Talladega Nightmares
by tarheelveteran
Summary: A brutal killer from Emmie's past has targeted her and Natalia for revenge. Both have been missing for several days. Meanwhile, girls are found mutilated in the Florida swamps, and Rick Stetler calls in the BAU. Rated M for graphic crime scenes.
1. Never Let Them See You Cry

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of CSI Miami, Criminal Minds, or any said intellectual property. Please don't sue me; my lawyer's in jail. **

**A/N: There was an installment in my Emmie Stockburne series called "A Big Beautiful Murder", which took place between Our Little Secret and Talladega Nightmares. It was a Miami/NY crossover. I didn't like how it turned out and will probably use it for something down the road. **

**Since some important things took place in A Big, Beautiful Murder, I need to fill in the holes. Ryan and Emmie have hit a rough stretch of road in their marriage. After years of working as the crime lab's computer tech, Emmie feels useless since Tyler had learned everything she had known. She is ready to make a change in her life, but is not sure what. A cousin of hers is looking to start a charity. She finally settles on Marisol's Angels, in the memory of Marisol Delko-Cain. Marisol's Angels is a home and orphanage for children who had been trafficked into the United states. Emmie now does computer work for the charity as well as spend some time with the kids. **

**A special thanks to everyone for all the kind comments on the previous Emmie Stockburne series. I have decided to rate this story M for the graphic crime scenes.**

* * *

**Chapter 1—Never let Them See You Cry**

**Federal Criminal Court, Birmingham, Alabama, April 1999**

"Place your hand on the Bible and raise your right hand."

Her stomach jumped from the nausea. Her throat tightened. She wanted more than anything in this world to just curl up in her bed, pull the sheet over her, and cry her heart out. Instead, she struggled to stand at attention and put her hand on the worn black Bible.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"Yes Sir."

The bailiff motioned toward the witness stand. "Be seated."

She took a deep breath, trying to dispel those feelings.

_Come on, stop it!_

"State your name and occupation for the record, please."

She leaned forward and held her churning stomach with one hand. "Emmalyn Stockburne-Qualls, Cyberagent Level Two, FBI Cybercrimes Analyst."

The bespectacled judge nodded to the prosecution. "Your witness."

As the carefully-suited federal prosecutor stood up, he held his pen at both ends, glanced at his notes, and stood in front of her, studying every inch of her that was visible from the witness stand, from her neat chestnut hair, to her pale complexion.

"Thank you, Your Honor" he said in his Alabama drawl. "Now, Agent Stockburne-Qualls. The Federal Government has called you as an expert witness to testify against Richard Domeyer, alias Talladega Slasher. Is that correct?"

"Yes Sir."

"Now Agent Stockburne-Qualls. In your own words, state for the record what you did in this case as a cyberagent and why you were called to do it."

_Oh God. Why now?_

"Well Sir, the said crimes occurred on Federal land, to wit, Talladega National Forest. As it was impossible to track the suspect's whereabouts any other way, the Bureau asked for my knowledge in cybertechnology and forensics."

Almost theatrically the prosecutor faced the jury while he looked at the ceiling and held his pen. He then walked around and faced her. "Now, Agent Stockburne-Qualls, I'm a little curious. How is it that a cybercrimes expert is able to help in the location of a murder suspect who has mostly committed his crimes out in remote areas such as the Talladega National Forest? Not much in the way of electronics up that way, is there?"

"Actually there is. We tracked the suspect by use of triangulation. It's cutting-edge technology. Right now the Bureau uses it, and only a handful of cities and states have the technology available."

The man stepped back slightly. "Using the courtroom's media board, Agent, would you explain to me how triangulation works and how you were able to track Richard Domeyer to the area of the Talladega National Forest in which he was apprehended?"

She took a deep breath and stood up on her black pumps, careful to look into the eyes of the man questioning her, Counsel, and the defendant who watched her with angry eyes. Her feelings were running high, and anything might make her cry or throw up right there in the courtroom, in front of the judge, the jury, that defendant, or worse yet, her boss. Nothing would destroy credibility like a crying, puking female FBI agent, she reasoned.

For several weeks she wanted to know why her stomach was turning inside-out on her at any second. And why she wanted nothing more than for her husband to be there to hold her, to caress her hair, to tell her everything was all right. To not let that jerk of a supervisor get under her skin.

But Dex was off on another training mission.

_Oh, God, I feel sick! Stop heaving, dammit!_

"All electronic communication devices, whether they be cell phones, pagers, or even satellite radios, can be tracked at times and places. In this case, however, cell phones give off radio waves that become more frequent as they're closer to a cell phone tower. The number will have a unique frequency. If three cell phone towers are picking up that phone's frequency at equal strength at the same time, we're able to make a triangle between the three towers and basically pinpoint the location of that cell phone. Since the technology tracks only in Real Time, we coordinated with the service providers in the local area. We knew that the victims were girls under twenty-one, all from outside the Southeastern United States and attending an event at the Talladega Speedway. With this information, the owners of the cell towers were able to alert us to when a nonlocal phone number was traveling from the Talladega Speedway up into the Talladega National Forest. For example, we determined that one victim's cell phone was at the Talladega Speedway at eleven forty-five. The providers then alerted me when that frequency was picked up on the road into the national forest after the races were over."

"And this is considered by the FBI to be an airtight, reliable method of tracking cell phones and any other two-way radios?"

"Yes Sir."

"No further questions."

* * *

"Oh, God, you did it!" Mary hollered as she hugged Emmie's neck. "You're the one who put the bastard away!" She backed up and looked into her eyes. "Are you okay?"

Emmie nodded sadly.

Mary Anne Bonner was the Birmingham Federal Court Reporter, a petite woman with blonde hair. She was awfully cheery for someone who worked with criminals, judges and lawyers all day long. Over the years, she and Emmie had learned to confide in each other safely. Mary sat down next to the tall, muscular former Marine and looked deeply into her green eyes.

"Come on. You looked pale up there. Something wrong?"

Without a word, she reached into her purse and handed her friend a folded piece of paper. Mary opened it and gasped. "Oh my God, that's wonderful!" She threw her arms around Emmie again, rubbing her back. "Aw, congratulations! I know you're gonna make a great mom."

Emmie made no more effort to hold back her emotions. She leaned her pale face onto her hand and sobbed, letting tears roll down onto her friend's blue suit jacket. "I feel so sick, Mary Anne."

"Aw, Emmie" she whispered. Then she moved back. "Does Dex know yet?"

"That's…part of the problem" she sobbed, wiping her eyes with a Kleenex.

"He's gone again, isn't he?"

Emmie blew her nose with a Kleenex and nodded. "Left last week. He's not due back till August this time."

The blonde-haired court reporter just bowed her head and rubbed her friend's back. They'd talked about this so many times before. Emmie had given her heart and her life to a Navy Seal who was gone nine months out of the year. Where he had gone was always a mystery, not to mention whether he'd come back alive. Emmie believed in keeping promises, and she was determined to tough it out, no matter what. They'd been over this time and time again. Emmie was so much taller than Mary Anne, so she could only reach up and tilt her head down to comfort her. "You gonna be okay?"

Emmie shrugged. "Yeah. Don't know what else I'm supposed to do."

"Look, I gotta get back and do cleanup. Call me tonight, okay?"

Emmie wiped her eyes and nodded. "Thanks."

Mary Anne reached forward and hugged her again. "I love you."

"I love you too. Thanks for being here."

Through her wet eyes, the Navy wife could barely read her court notes. In the silence she leaned against the metal table when the door opened.

_Oh God, it's him! Go away!_

She could feel her stomach knot up again as her throat tightened up. She covered her mouth and bent over slightly.

Robert Peeler was a tall, stocky redhead, a local from the Alabama area. Slowly, his hands behind his back, he paced in circles around the table, watching her all the time. "Emmie. You feeling all right? You looked a little distracted up there."

"Agent Peeler" she said coldly. "I'm fine. Thanks for your concern."

"Where's your husband?"

"Working. Where else?"

The stocky agent shrugged. "Oh, nothing. Just a little worried you might buckle under cross exam. Makes the Bureau look bad when that happens."

"I'm fine, thank you." _You pig. _"Did you need my help with something?"

He finally stopped and stood uncomfortably close to her, violating her personal space, just like he did now and then. Just inches away from her face he looked straight into her eyes. "The chief put you in for a special commendation. You know that?"

Emmie found it hard to look into his eyes. "I knew."

He put his hands on his hips now and nodded matter-of-factly. He knew his presence made her uncomfortable, and he was enjoying every minute of it. "Yeah, I saw the paperwork on my desk. Don't worry. I signed it and sent it on."

"Thank you." The young cyberagent knew Peeler thought he should have been getting this award.

"That's gonna go a long way toward a promotion."

"I know."

"Well, I'll see you back there. Don't slack off; you know how busy we are." With that he walked out and closed the door, leaving her alone.


	2. Interview With a Killer

**Chapter 2—Interview With A Killer**

**FBI Field Office, Birmingham, Alabama, 10 Years Later**

"You son of a-!"

With both hands Cyberagent Peeler crushed the paper and hurled it across the office as hard as he could. It hit the brown wall with a CRACK! and fell to the blue carpet. He then breathed hard, gathering himself as he leaned against his desk, his arms folded.

This was it. He'd been passed over for promotion for the third and final time, effectively ending his FBI career. Gone now were his chances at that bureau chief position in Washington. Gone now were the promotion and the power he'd worked for nearly twenty-five years. The tall, husky, redheaded man cursed loudly and sat at his desk, angrily plowing folders out of the way with his burly arm. It had all evaporated.

Someone was going to pay dearly for this.

He thumbed through some old packets in his bottom drawer. His angry blue eyes fell on the photo in which he awarded Emmie Stockburne the unit citation for her role in the Talladega Slasher case. Pinned to the photo was the bureau article that praised her for her innovation with the new technology that helped track down a brutal killer when all else had failed. The Bureau saw fit to mention him in passing. Peeler could feel his blood pressure rise as he looked at the forced smile he wore in that photo. He was the supervisor. He, not Cyberagent Stockburne, should have received that unit citation. Even after all this time, he still couldn't bring himself to hang that picture. But for some strange reason, he couldn't throw it away, either. His door still closed, Agent Peeler logged onto his computer and clicked keys.

_Emmalyn Stockburne. Emmalyn Stockburne. _

She was still in Miami since leaving the Birmingham field office, it seemed. Married to a CSI Ryan Wolfe. Looked like things were still going well for her, he thought.

But something else caught his attention.

"Agent Boa Vista? Both in the Miami-Dade Crime Lab?"

Agent Boa Vista had briefly served as a mole in the Birmingham field office when some of his actions had come into question. She had tried to take him down and failed. He started to laugh. With a new resolve, he clicked off the Miami-Dade website. All this would take was a little cybermagic on his part. That and maybe some temporary duty in Florida.

* * *

The man had been sitting scrunched up on his bunk, leaning on his knees, looking out at the narrow window at the gray, rainy day. He was tall and wiry. He had a tired, pockmarked face and stringy strawberry blonde hair that touched his shoulders. No real reason to make himself presentable, he figured, and the prison shower could be dangerous. His orange jumpsuit was baggy on him. Now on Death Row, he lived out his days staring out at what daylight filtered into his cell.

There was a cracking sound on his door.

"Domeyer! Visitor!"

Slowly he turned his head and looked at the guard through the wire mesh window.

"Let's go!"

The man hadn't had visitors in years, and even then, only from the media and fans. Slowly he uncurled himself from his bunk and backed up to the door, sliding his hands through the opening in his cell door, letting the guard handcuff him before opening the door.

"Head down!"

The tall, wiry man let his stringy strawberry blonde hair fall around his ears, though he could scan the dark, dirty hallways of the prison without anyone knowing. So many tricks he'd learned in the twelve years he had been here. He knew almost every inch of these dank, depressing brown hallways.

At the phone booth the guard uncuffed him and nodded toward the scratched safety glass.

Richard Domeyer just stood there for a moment and stared. On the other side was a husky FBI agent who looked confidently into his eyes, something that unnerved him. He glanced at his guest and then at the wall phone. Something wasn't right.

Finally he got the courage to sit down and pick up the phone. His guest did the same.

"Who are you?" he rasped in his Alabama drawl. "The hell do you want from me?"

"My name is Robert Peeler. I'm a senior FBI agent here in the Birmingham field office."

"And that means what to me?"

He kept his head perfectly still and looked into the man's ragged blue eyes. "The Talladega case."

"What about it?"

"Ever think you really shouldn't be in here?"

The man scrunched his pockmarked face. "This some kind of a sick joke or something? You got nothing better to do, Fed?" But the husky agent never took his eyes off him. "What do you want from me?"

"I need your help."

"You kidding me?"

Agent Peeler sat straight and tall as if he were addressing a director or a high-ranking politician for a favor or some quid pro quo. The prisoner's jaded, angry eyes glanced at his and back at the FBI badge on his shirt pocket. Never trust anyone outside your own circle was the first law of the jungle he had learned here. But something was different. He did know how to read people. This one wasn't bluffing or messing with him.

"Okay. You have my attention."

"I supervised Agent Stockburne when she testified against you. Now? I need your help in righting a wrong. Against both of us. I'll make it worth your while."

The man knew that somebody might be listening. He hushed his voice. "What do you want me to do?"

"Gonna be the easiest thing you ever did. In fact it's what you do best. Take orders from me and when the time comes, be ready to go."

"Go?"

"Soon."

When the prisoner woke up that morning, it was just going to be another day along the road to his death in that prison. Now he could feel all of that changing. "What do I do?"

Agent Peeler leaned forward, sinking his voice to a whisper. "Listen and listen good. When the time comes, you don't talk to anybody but me. We never had this conversation. If anybody asks, I was in here cherry picking for a crime prevention program. My last good deed for the Bureau before moving on."

The man dipped his head. "Yeah. No problem."

"Agent Stockburne is in Miami, Florida, along with another former colleague of mine." He leaned forward. "Tell me. You ever think about Agent Stockburne? What she did to you? How she put you away?"

The man hadn't been able to feel anything for years. But now he trembled and his bloodshot eyes blazed as his broken, dirty fingernails scratched the metal table. "Just show me where that bitch is. If I ever get my hands on her—"

The cyberagent watched the man's rage. He himself started to clench the phone until his knuckles turned white. "See where I'm going with this?"

"How soon?" the man almost whispered in a newfound desperation.

"Listen to me. Be patient. I'm gonna be back. Meantime I'm here for notes." His voice sounded more professional as he put a yellow legal pad on the metal table and began to scrawl notes. "So Mr. Domeyer, first things first. Can you tell me something about your victims?"

The man sniffed. "Yeah. Tell you what. Got about fifteen minutes before we go into lockin, but I guess I can share a few things. I hung out at the Talladega Speedway when the races came to town. Easiest to find kittens that way."

"Kittens? What do you mean by 'kittens'?"

"You know. I called 'em kittens because they're just like the neighbors' pets I used to take apart when I was little." His ragged eyes seemed to warm at the memory. "When I was twelve, girl down the street had a Siamese that wandered onto our property. I tied it up with string, took it apart piece by piece with a hunting knife, and left the pieces on their doorstep. Scared the crap out of them, and you know what? It felt damned good. But anyway, I called 'em kittens. Small, cute, cuddly, and so helpless. Girls far from home. Alone. Some lonely Yankee girl, college or high school who wanted to party with a Southern boy."

"Yeah."

"But they had to be from out of state, now. No locals. Safer that way. If they had a southern accent I'd leave 'em alone. NASCAR groupies. Runaways. They usually did it for me."

"And how did you kill them?"

Slowly he leaned forward as the memories came back. "Make sure they were just drunk or high enough that they couldn't fight back. A buddy showed me how to mix up downers and I learned how to give shots. But just enough so they could still feel pain. Then I'd tie 'em to something and cut 'em. Skin the arms and legs first. Then the body. Then cut 'em open and take 'em apart. Piece by piece. Then I'd just leave 'em out there. Bears and critters would do the cleanup work."

"Why?"

The prisoner had a tired smile on his face now. "Cause it felt damned good! What other reason did I need?"

Satisfied that he had put on a good show for the guards, Agent Peeler scrawled on his pad and then folded it shut. "Tell you what. I'm gonna be back at a more convenient time. Thanks for your time." With that he hung up the phone.

The man smirked. "Pleasure's mine. I'll be lookin' for you, Fed."


	3. While You Were Sleeping

**Chapter 3—While You Were Sleeping**

**Miami, Florida, Six Months Later**

"West! Phone call! Take it in the back! Hurry up, we're busy!"

Monica West tightened her lips in anger. She hated the way he talked to her like the guards had. Wiping her hands quickly, she hurried toward the back and picked up the smudged black phone. "Hello?"

"Hey."

It was him. Her heart pounded as she glanced around, making sure nobody watched. "Hey."

"You take care of it?"

"Went out yesterday. Should get there today or tomorrow. Hang on a second." She punched in some numbers on the gray keypad.

"We're good" Peeler said. "I checked."

"Great. Thanks." The former attorney had learned a lot of tricks while in state corrections, and one of them was how to make sure the line wasn't being tapped. "Just do what you promised, okay? I got thirty and a wakeup, and I'm not gonna screw it up."

There was silence on the other end. "Don't worry. It'll all be taken care of."

She looked down at the scars on her hands. "Thanks." Now she could feel her anger rising. "If she'd done what I told her to, I wouldn't be here."

"I'll let you know when I get it. Got some things to finish up. Till then."

Without another word, Monica West hung the old phone back up on the cradle.

"Who's that?" the man snapped, glaring at her.

She glanced at him sideways. "My uncle in Alabama. He wants to know if I sent him the money I owed him."

He looked at her suspiciously for a moment, but then he walked away. Probably just too busy to do any more digging, she reasoned. She had been keeping her head down and keeping out of trouble, and that seemed to be enough. It went a long way toward getting her into work-release and eventually off early for good behavior.

Monica West had a gift for arguing the laws of the State of Florida, but not for stocking grocery shelves. Quietly she fumbled with cereal boxes while that scene replayed in her mind, again and again.

"_Is that why you stole that money?" _

_It still sent chills down her spine. He'd known. _

"_You did steal it, right? Turn the heat back up on that lab?"_

_She didn't realize that he knew. But she was getting tired of waiting. But he was her fiancé. She could trust him. _

"_It worked. The FBI swarmed that lab! They could conceivably lose their creditation, get shut down—"_

Then Peter Elliot handed that recorder over to Calleigh DuQuesne. In an instant she could feel her world crashing down around her.

"_You were taping me?"_

"_If it was any consolation, he really didn't want to"._

"_Peter, you set me up?" _

"_I can't help you". _

"_Feels terrible, doesn't it? Hands behind your back. Officers, would you help me, please?"_

That was the first time she knew what it was like to be handcuffed. The first time she realized that Peter Elliot cared more about himself than about her.

Burglary. Grand theft. Evidence tampering. Impeding an investigation. And the man whom she thought loved her stood against her in testimony. Ten years in the Florida State Women's Correctional Facility. He'd probably forgotten all about her by now, she reasoned. He was probably back in the Beltway, living the good life, while she shared a filthy, stinking prison cell with a gangbanger's girlfriend. That useless bitch Boa Vista would get what was coming to her.

* * *

**Three Days Later**

Ryan stirred in the darkness and covered his face when the clock radio clicked on. Reflexively he turned his head toward Emmie.

Sleepily, Emmie Wolfe reached up and touched her lips to his eye and then rested her head back on his chest. "Morning Sweet Stuff" she whispered.

The young CSI yawned and stretched, wrapping his arms firmly around her. "Mmm. How you feeling this morning?"

"Better."

He simply held her close to him. Emmie looked down and drew lazy shapes on his stomach with her finger.

"What are you thinking about?"

"When did my sexy husband start getting a beer gut?"

He sniffed. "That's _not_ a beer gut."

Emmie couldn't help it. She giggled as she gently ran her hand along his stomach, then his chest, then his arms.

"What's so funny?"

The former cybertech started to laugh some more. "You're not pregnant, are you?"

He chuckled. "I'm just putting on some weight; that's all."

"More for me to love."

Silence.

"I feel so bad about how I acted yesterday" she sighed.

Ryan fondled her chestnut hair. Only recently did he notice that she had been plucking out gray hairs. "Emmie, stop. It's over and done with."

"I wish I knew what was upsetting me."

"Didn't the doctor say you're in full-blown menopause now?"

"I guess so." Still resting on his chest, she looked up at him. "Coffee?"

He kissed her lips gently. "Yeah. Come on. I get the feeling somebody has to talk."

Ryan opened the drapes and settled on the couch. Two steaming cups of coffee in hand, Emmie came out to him in her linen robe and curled up next to him. They looked out over the faint light of the Miami sunrise. Though he'd been busy, Ryan couldn't help but notice that his wife was a little less sure of herself these days. More emotional. Not quite the warrior princess he'd married years ago. He held her to his chest as she sipped her coffee. Though he didn't always understand Emmie, he knew that a little love and sympathy went a long way.

"I'm sorry, Ryan. You shouldn't have to put up with me acting funny."

"You're just in reverse puberty. Remember?"

"Yeah, maybe. I was working with the kindergarten kids yesterday, and, well…."

"Lemme guess. Christopher again."

She nodded sadly.

"Wish I knew what to tell you. You're sure getting attached to those kids."

"I know. But him in particular."

"I wonder if it was such a good idea to name him after your son."

She shrugged. "There's just something about him. Seems like every time I read to him or something, I get all sad. And he's one of those that just doesn't fit in, you know? He just stays by himself."

Ryan stroked her hair again. "Look, Emmie, I want you to just take some time off, okay? I swear you work harder now than you ever did at the crime lab. Maybe you just need a change of scenery. Take a vacation. Go shopping. I mean, you need to stop acting like we still live on a shoestring budget. Or how long has it been since you did some kickboxing?"

"Not since I left the crime lab. Well, okay. There's this really nice spa I saw on the internet where I can get spoiled all day, then spend the night, then maybe go to the mall and do a little people watching down at South Beach. You don't mind if I spend a few nights away from you, do you?"

"Don't know. Every time you're gone I have to sleep with Stryker, and he gets fur all over the bed." He looked directly into her eyes. "But I want you to take a break. And when you get back, I want you to talk to somebody about what's bothering you. There's no shame in getting counseling or something. You can't go on like this." He dipped his head to her. "Promise?"

Emmie nodded.

"Your husband has spoken" he said in a mock growl. She kissed his nose and scratched his back. He closed his eyes and squirmed. "Mmmmm. Emmie, that's not fair."

* * *

Cyberagent Robert Peeler flipped frantically through the crumpled envelopes. There it was.

"Nice job, honey!"

Glancing around his empty office, he slit it open with his finger and then thumbed through the pages. "Yep, this is just what I needed. I love you, Monica!"

Quickly he clicked keys until he brought up the FBI inmate database. He nodded at the monitor.

"Now we're just gonna fix some things." He tapped into the Bureau of Prisons database. Richard Domeyer was up for release in three days. Cyberagent Peeler would be waiting for him.


	4. Killer on the Road

**Chapter 4—Killer on the Road**

**A/N The theme song for this chapter is "Riders on the Storm" by The Doors. Contains spoilers from The Score. **

* * *

As he stepped up to the last counter, he signed his name. He kept his head down. The guard said nothing as he walked with him to the gates that parted in front of him. The Alabama rain now poured down, drenching him, causing his old plaid shirt to stick to his slight frame.

Peeler stepped out of the car and nodded at him. With his eyes he motioned toward the passenger side door. No sooner had Richard Domeyer slipped in and closed it than the cyberagent backed out and was headed down the pockmarked two-lane road, splashing mud everywhere. He then handed him a black ballcap and a pair of old sunglasses. "Gonna need you to put these on while we're traveling. Might be cameras."

The convict smoothed his wet stringy hair under the ballcap and slipped the glasses on. After ten years behind those concrete walls and barbed wires, he couldn't help but stare at the hills of central Alabama—the trees, the grasslands, the ruddy two-lane road ahead of them. It hadn't changed much.

"No problems?" Peeler asked.

"No, man. They let me right out."

"That's what I intended."

Robert Peeler drove just as hard through the sheets of rain, not bringing any attention to the black staff car. Lightning seemed to come down like artillery fire. Richard Domeyer was just silently taking in the colors. Birmingham Max had him well trained. Never stare at anyone. Don't talk unless it was absolutely necessary. A guard might club you. Another inmate might maim or kill you. "Why aren't we on the interstate?" he finally asked.

"Got cameras around the stores and chicken coops." His fingers still on the wheel, he reached under the car seat and handed him some photos. "Here. I want you to take a good look at 'em." Through his sunglasses, the killer held them side by side, his eyes glancing at each one.

Cyberagent Peeler motioned with his finger. "First one's Natalia Boa Vista. Former FBI."

He glanced at Natalia's FBI photo. "What about her?"

"Let's just say we both owe somebody a favor, and I'm gonna need you to handle it."

The man then glanced to the photo on the right. His breath quickened and he grabbed the edges of the other photo. Neither one had to say a word.

"And of course, Emmie Stockburne."

"Just gimme a minute with that bitch!" he snarled as he almost crumbled the photo in his wet hands.

Peeler looked at him emphatically. "When I give her over to you, I want you to take your sweet time with her. Make damned sure she suffers."

Slowly but surely it was occurring to him that he really was free. Through his sunglasses he watched the pines of the hilly Talladega National Forest disappear in the black staff car's rear view mirror.

_Wide eyed, the girl shook her head and screamed, tugging hard at the nylon twine that held her hands to the tree trunk, hard enough to shake it. Pine needles rained down on her bare skin. _

"_No! Please let me go! I'll do anything! Don't hurt me!"_

_His excitement rose as he took another drag on his cigarette and exhaled. Slowly he ran his tongue on the blade of his hunting knife. In A Gadda Da Vida thumped on his CD player in the background. He could watch her squirming, tears and saliva on her face, her brown hair sticking to her neck as she threw her head side to side. He stripped his shirt off, threw it on the leaves, and knelt down, holding the blade to her forearm. With wide, trembling eyes she shook her head and twisted violently again._

"_Nooooo! Oh God, somebody please help me!"_

_Her screaming made his heart race as he traced the knife in her bare forearm, causing her to scream and squirm more violently. Just a little blood trickled out of the pink line and onto the leaves. But it was enough to whet his appetite. "You like that?" he whispered to her. "Cause I do."_

He smiled. Probably for the first time in years.

Robert Peeler picked up his cell phone and thumbed the speed dial. "Hey. It's me. We're on our way. Did you do everything I asked? Great. Should be getting there some time tonight. Hey honey, the guy can't live on love alone, okay? Don't worry, I'm sure the CSI's will get lots of pictures. You can stick 'em all over your wall. That oughtta make you happy. I love ya, honey." With that he clicked off his cell phone. "Got a contact in Dade County. Name's Monica West. She helped set this up."

Richard Domeyer knew that had to concern him, but he knew better than to ask. "Is that what this…Boa Vista chick is about?"

"Yeah. Monica's been working behind the scenes for the past few months. There's a hunting cabin in the Glades. Nice and far away from everything. She even put some food and water in there. She's been on work release at the local Kroger's. Man, you wouldn't believe what they throw away in there."

"Why don't you tell me what the hell Monica West has against Boa Vista? No ears in this place, is there?"

The sturdy redhead smiled. "Just mine. Ends up both me and Stockburne worked with Boa Vista. FBI used her as a mole here in Birmingham. She's a real idiot. Anyway, she moved to Miami where Monica used to be the Florida State Attorney. Hired her to scope out the Miami Crime Lab some years back. Guy who ran it had an employee whose sister was buying pot, and he got involved somehow. Said she had to let the girl skate with a misdemeanor. Anyway, Monica says Boa Vista dragged her feet, double-crossed her. She tried to fix things, but her Secret Service boyfriend found out about it. Got charged with grand theft and evidence tampering, and I guess the crime lab gave Boa Vista a job there as sort of a pat on the back for saving them. So while Monica was in lockup, she worked close to the IT office in Dade County. Was able to get me the codes so I could get in and rewrite your records. Thanks to her, as far as anybody knows, you don't exist. You kind of owe her one too, man."

"Yeah, I guess I do. How the hell am I supposed to do anything without my stuff?"

"I made a little visit to the evidence locker just before I came here. It's in the trunk."

He leered at the cyberagent. "Just like that?"

"Nobody ever questions what I do. Monica said just splatter that little tart all over the state of Florida and she'll call it even."

"Yeah. No problem.

_He squinted and finally opened his eyes when the sun poked at him through the pines. It was a strange kind of awakening, like he'd been run over by a freight train. Still lying there, he groaned and rubbed his face. When he accidentally rubbed dirt and leaves on himself, he suddenly realized where he was. His blood-stained knife lay next to him. Slowly he sat up and held his head. The blood pool had stopped just inches away from where he had slept. What was left of her was totally covered in her blood. He looked down at himself. Blood spatter on his bare chest and his jeans. For what seemed hours he just sat in the leaves and stared. He'd done it again. _

"Just one thing, man" Peeler warned. "You're gonna have to lay low. Stay in that cabin, and I'll bring Stockburne and Boa Vista to you. Don't do anything that's gonna bring attention to you. Hear me?"

"What the hell do you think I am? Some kind of idiot? I never even been to Florida."

"They got the races going on at Miami, so just lay low."

The man sniffed. "Yeah. No problem."

* * *

**Everglades National Wildlife Preserve, Three Days Later**

There were no sounds except the mournful cries of the loons and egrets. Scampering under the brush. The buzzing of the bugs that were attracted to the blood. Police radios in the distance. Two uniforms retching in the nearby sawgrass.

The girl's two reddened hands were still tied at the wrists to the mangrove tree, attached to the bones and muscles. Her sleeping face and hair were fully covered in blood. Her skin had been stripped off of her arms and laid on either side of her body. The skin on her stomach had been separated and peeled back, exposing the dark red cavity that once held her stomach, her colon, and her female parts. Her colon now lay in a bloody coil beside her head and right next to her uterus. Her clothes had been cut off her and tossed to one side, now covered over in the spreading blood pool. Arteries, veins and muscles had been cut off and lay in neat strips and left on either side of her red, sleeping face.

"Couple of gator hunters found this. Name's Bethany Roberson from Nutley, New Jersey. Eighteen" Frank said quietly as he glanced up. "Responding officers are still over there puking."

Horatio stared down at the redness through his sunglasses, hands on hips. "It's a good thing they got to her before the alligators did, Frank." He knelt down and examined the mangrove trunk while Delko snapped pictures. "Cuts are almost surgical. High-velocity spatter is minimal. He started on the outside and worked his way in. Alexx, is there any way of finding a TOD?"

Alexx quietly spread out the black bag onto the sawgrass. The seasoned M.E. had to turn her head and breathe through her mouth. "Not with this, Horatio. She bled out, so there's no lividity, and her liver's been exposed to the elements. I can only say it was some time last night between midnight and two a.m." With her gloved hands she gingerly scooped up the darkened organs. "I'm gonna need your help, Eric. And a lot more bags."

Delko could feel a tightening in his stomach as he snapped pictures from every angle. "Yeah. Almost done." He shook his head. "Never seen anything like this before. H, that rope was pulled tight. She was definitely alive and fighting when this all happened."

With gloved hands, Horatio knelt down and looked at the grass next to the blood pool. "Yes. Looks like he slept it off afterward. Got a body print and some secondary transfer in the grass." With a gloved hand he quickly swabbed the blood spots. "Our first priority is going to be to get this evidence back to the lab. Mr. Wolfe and Calleigh are on their way here to finish processing the scene."

Alexx took a deep breath as she surveyed the mangrove forest. "We got a monster out there, Horatio."

Frank stared at the imprint on the ground. "Don't think he cared about getting caught."

Through his sunglasses, Horatio looked at the sky with a resolve. "Well, that is about to change."


	5. Suffer the Children

**Chapter 5—Suffer the Children**

"But most importantly, Duckie learned that having a true friend is worth more than all the candy in the world. The End." With that Emmie closed the colorful book and smiled at them.

Tatiana and Christopher had been sitting at the brown table on either side of her, their little legs swinging from the tall chairs, listening to her every word while eating their sandwiches and potato chips. Tatiana and Christopher were both five years old. Tatiana had been trafficked in from El Salvador, while Christopher had been smuggled in from Estonia. Both were abandoned after the black market adoptions had gone wrong. Both had been brought to Marisol's Angels when their host countries couldn't locate their birth families. Now Emmie visited with them once a week, reading and having lunch with them. They knew Ryan and Emmie as "Uncle Ryan" and "Aunt Emmie".

"Thank you, Aunt Emmie" Tatiana said politely, just as she had been taught, though her mouth full of tuna fish and mayonnaise.

"You're welcome, Sweetheart." She pointed to her own mouth. "Remember what I said about talking with your mouth full."

Slowly and deliberately Christopher took a sip of his Koolaid and set down his brown plastic cup. "So why did Duckie give away all _his_ candy? Fisher should share with Duckie, too."

"Yeah!" Tatiana chimed in. "He's not a friend if he doesn't share back. Right, Aunt Emmie?"

With one look into Christopher's brown eyes, Emmie changed from a dutiful governess to a sad, longing would-be mother. She dipped her head. She wanted to reach out and touch his brown hair, hold him, kiss the top of his head, tell him she'd protect him from the evils of this world.

"What is it, Aunt Emmie?"

Slowly she stood up from the table. "I have to get ready to teach the computer class. Will I see my lunch buddies again next Monday?"

Tatiana and Christopher could tell that something was bothering Aunt Emmie, but they nodded.

"And you know to take your dishes back to the kitchen? If I come back here I won't find a mess left behind?"

"No, Aunt Emmie" Christopher said earnestly.

She knelt down. "Aw, give me a hug."

The children slid down from their chairs and came to either side of her. With each arm she cuddled them, their hair close to her cheek, their soft breathing. "Now go. Clean up and get ready for naptime."

After she had left, the children watched the door. "She was crying again" Tatiana said.

Christopher watched dumbfoundedly. "Why?"

Tatiana looked at her lunchmate accusingly now. "She only cries when she sees you, Christopher!"

The boy hung his head, certain that he might have done something wrong. "But I didn't do anything."

Safely in the computer office, Emmie leaned her face on her hand and sobbed, touching her scarred belly.

_She sat next to him and rubbed his back tenderly. "I'm sorry I lost him."_

_Dex looked away from her, down at the floor. "Stop blaming yourself. There wasn't anything you could've done. At least you're still alive, and that's what counts."_

"God, I know it wasn't my fault" she sobbed. "So what's wrong with me?"

* * *

Alexx looked down at the red mask that covered Bethany Roberson's sleeping face. "I hate when they're this young." Alexx would have to finish the final report before rinsing her off, putting her back together, and releasing her to next of kin. Her abdomen was still parted, exposing the brown cavern of her insides. The skin that had been stripped off her arms and legs lay on a metal specimen table, away from their owner, next to jars of organs that she had labeled. Tired from this difficult post and her early shift, she now stood and took a deep breath.

"Got anything more, Alexx?"

She looked up slowly to the observation window. "Not one of the easiest posts I've ever done, Horatio. Because her muscles were exposed, rigor never properly set in, so I couldn't get a timeline for TOD. Not surprisingly, Bethany here died from exsanguination. No signs of sexual assault or blunt-force trauma anywhere. No illegal drugs." She held up a jar. "Killer didn't take her stomach apart, so I was able to get the contents. Nachos, cheese, onions, sour cream, and beer. Not a lot of blood left in her, but what I could get I sent to Tox. Just enough to find out that her blood alcohol was .05."

"Nachos, cheese, and beer. So it sounds like she was at some kind of event. Movie theatre, carnival…."

"Or maybe this." She gingerly picked up the bloodied hand. "Barely found this under the blood."

Horatio cocked his head and squinted at the smeared black logo. "Alexx, that's a gate stamp. Can you make it out?"

She laid the hand down again. "Homestead Miami Speedway. They held the qualifier for the Homestead 300 last night. My daughter wanted to go, but I told her she'd have to watch it on TV. Now I'm not sure I'll _ever _let her go."

"So the last place anybody saw her alive was at the speedway. Anything else?"

"She was too young to buy the beer herself. Maybe that's how her killer lured her."

"Workable prints?"

"Found some on the skin that had been stripped off her arms. Sent them to Delko. Trace is working them for epithelials." The M.E. motioned toward the loose, open skin on the girl's abdomen. All this was done with a sharpened blade. No jagged edges. Probably a hunting knife or a box cutter. Take a look at this." She picked up the jar that contained the girl's heart. "No jagged edges, but hesitation marks on the inferior vena cava. There are more like it all over the major vessels. The freshest wounds were on the skin of her forearms, so he started there first. Connective tissue on her arms was torn, not cut. He likely skinned her with his bare hands."

Horatio watched silently.

"There's more, Horatio. High rate of adrenaline. Bethany was alive and sober when he started cutting her."

Horatio dipped his head. "So she must've met her killer at the speedway. They went for a drive into the Glades where he probably lured her, tied her up, and then mutilated her. I'll get surveillance from the speedway and see who might have been the last to see Bethany alive and in one piece."

* * *

Horatio stood over Tyler as he watched the black and white surveillance tape. "There it is!"

"So at eleven-fifteen they went out the front gate of the speedway. Bethany's silver Corolla with a New Jersey license plate. Freeze that, Tyler!"

As Tyler clicked the keyboard, the car stopped.

"Now zoom in on the faces."

"That's Bethany behind the wheel."

"And the passenger?"

Tyler clicked again and again to try to bring the face in more clearly. "He's wearing a black ballcap and keeping his face down. There's one other thing I can do" the A/V tech said. "Zooming in on the rear view mirror to see if I can at least get a partial. Then I'll run it through the face recognition database." He tapped the keyboard again. "Just the lower half of the face. Might be enough. No scars or tats." He dragged the image and typed again. Instantly faces popped up that might match.

"Uniforms are looking for that silver Corolla. Call me the minute you find something."

"Horatio!"

The lieutenant tightened his lip and stiffened, turning around slowly. He knew that voice. "Nice of you to come visit us, Rick."

IAB Lieutenant Rick Stetler stood over him, hands on hips. "Not a social call." He glanced at the lab. "Got off the phone with the chief. Miami brass is pretty spooked about the Roberson case. Got some major events coming up, and word of this case getting out could scare away the tourists."

"I'm well aware of that."

"They're bringing in the Feds for some help."

"Rick, might I remind you we don't need this lab or Miami crawling with Feds. Not during the Homestead 300, and not with Spring Break coming up!"

Rick sniffed. "Not your call to make. Body was found in the Glades. That's Federal land, so legally they have jurisdiction."

Horatio faced him squarely. This was another bombshell he didn't need right now. "Rick, the Feds are just gonna get in the way of us doing our jobs. You know that as well as I do!"

"Brass isn't gonna hear it. Feds are sending help."

"What kind of help could they possibly give us?"

"Spoke to a Special Agent Hotchner of the BAU. Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia. Does psychological profiling of a suspect. Help narrow the field a little."

"You know as well as I do that the MDPD is following every lead we have!"

"Look, Horatio! Just work with them, okay? Chief told me to tell you, send them whatever information the lab has on this case so far."

"May I ask who authorized this?"

Rick looked straight into his rival's weathered blue eyes, knowing that he had the full backing of IAB and the City of Miami. "I did." With that he turned toward the door. "Agent Hotchner's waiting on the information, Horatio. I suggest you take him up on it!"


	6. What Fresh Hell

**Chapter 6—What Fresh Hell?**

**FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit, Quantico, Virginia**

Dr. Spencer Reid quietly slipped downstairs into the bullpen and laid the paper plate down, walking without turning his head.

"Whoa!"

The young profiler turned around to find Derek Morgan glancing between him and the plate he'd left. "Reid! Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"Got work to do."

"What's that?"

"It's a paper plate with cellophane on it, Derek."

"Uh huh." With one finger he lifted the cellophane and looked. A smile crossed his face. "Wow! Cookies?"

"Yeah."

With two fingers, Morgan took out a blackened, warped chocolate chip cookie, turning it over and studying it. "Damn! Come on, Reid! You bake these?"

"Kind of."

He laughed now. "This looks like something I saw at a crime scene once!"

"Hey, don't laugh, Derek! That was my community service project!"

"You volunteered to help the community by baking these?"

"For your information, I'm volunteering with a local Girl Scout troop. I showed them how experimenting with baking soda, flour, and eggs in different proportions can change the taste and texture of something! It was a…a chemistry experiment."

"And these were the ones _you_ made?"

Reid looked at the floor. "Well, yeah."

"Morgan, stop picking on him!"

Emily Prentiss stood behind them and picked up another twisted cookie. "They look delicious, Reid. In fact I'm gonna have one with my coffee right now." As she tasted it, she dipped her head and chewed deliberately. "Mmm. They're uh…."

"They're what?"

"Well, uh…. Well, how do I say it? Different."

He sniffed. "I'm a profiler, Emily. You can tell me I used too much baking soda in that batch."

"Well, I bet you and the Girl Scouts had a great time."

"Any of them older than you?" Derek kidded.

Special Agent Hotchner darted through the bullpen on his way to the conference room. "No time for breakfast! Got one in Miami."

David Rossi slipped into the chair as the black-haired agent opened up the case file. Garcia stepped into the room carrying her mug.

"There was a mutilation out in Everglades National Park."

"Serial?" Rossi wanted to know.

"Not serial. At least not yet" Hotchner said. "I just spoke with Lieutenant Rick Stetler of Miami-Dade PD. Far as they know it's a one-time random act, and they're asking us to help it stay that way."

Page by page Hotchner spread out pictures and lab printouts. JJ stared at the crime scene photos and passed them down. The BAU had seen some graphic ones in their time, but this one was probably one of the worst. Emily looked down for a moment as the photo of Bethany Roberson stared her back in the face. "Not your classic mutilation case, is it?"

"Bethany Roberson. Eighteen. Came down with friends from New Jersey" JJ said. "Found by alligator hunters. Tied up, stripped and mutilated in the Everglades National Forest. Dr. Alexx Woods of the Miami-Dade PD found no signs of sexual assault or illicit drugs other than a BAC of .05. Evidence shows she met the unsub at the Homestead-Miami Speedway who talked her into driving to the Everglades National Forest. The only signs they could find of any kinds of force were bruising on her wrists. Crime Scene Investigators found her white tee shirt and old denim shorts that had been cut off her with a knife. They believe the same knife used to strip her was the same knife used to mutilate her. She was only slightly impaired when the unsub tied her to a tree by the wrists, and then proceeded to skin her arms and legs and then take her organs out one by one. The unsub then allegedly slept there before taking off with her silver Corolla."

"That's a slow way to go" JJ said.

"Dr. Woods was able to determine that she bled out."

"Nonlocal girls between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five years of age are the most likely targets for sexual and violent crimes" Rossi added. "They tend to be more trusting and don't know the area."

Spencer Reid studied the photo. "Internal organs were placed one by one carefully on either side of the body. Suggests the unsub is either highly organized or is a creature of habit. It also suggests that he took his time and wasn't motivated by hatred."

"Mutilation killers don't usually eviscerate their victims like this" Rossi said. "Unsub took his time. Likely not a rage killing."

Dr. Reid pointed at the organs placed around the body. "No blood splatters around the organs except where they were severed at their vessels. The unsub's done this before. Look at the placement of her organs. Everything's been severed from the nerves, the arteries and the veins that feed them. Major arteries, like the aorta, were cut out and laid to one side, pretty much where they would be found in the region of the body."

"Think we're looking for someone with a surgical background?" Emily wanted to know. "Might be leading a double life of some kind?"

"Probably not" Hotchner said. "Dr. Woods found her lungs still intact in the body. You'll see where the heart was taken out. Definitely has knowledge of human anatomy, but if his only motive were to take the whole body apart, he would've found a way to crack the ribs open and get everything."

Derek Morgan shook his head slightly. "And Miami's never had anything like this happen before?"

"Not that Lieutenant Stetler's aware of. We'll be working closely with Lieutenant Horatio Caine of the Miami-Dade Crime Lab. Lieutenant Stetler mentioned that the Homestead 300 is going on now, in conjunction with the spring break season, which brings in girls this age from all over the country."

"Talk about a target-rich environment" JJ added.

"Exactly" Hotchner said. "But because there's evidence that the unsub has done this before, Garcia, I want you to look up any cases in which the bodies were found taken apart like this."

"I'm on it" she said.

"Cross-check it against everything. State or Federal land. Murders that involve speedway events. Whether anything like that has happened in Florida or not. The sooner the better."

"I'll work my magic. Gotta go. Bye."

* * *

Monica West had the sheets wrapped around her body as she sat up in the bed, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. She picked up the remote and thumbed through the channels just as Peeler stepped into the bedroom with two coffee cups.

"Morning, Monica honey." He set one down on her night stand and leaned over, giving her a slow kiss.

"Mmm. Thanks for the coffee. How'd you sleep last night?" she purred.

He settled back onto the bed. "Nice to have something to hold onto for a change."

She smiled. "Mmm. Don't I know it."

"What are you looking for?"

"Just checking the weather."

"Hot and steamy, probably. I mean, this is South Florida. How much does it change?"

_Miami-Dade police are searching for a killer after a bizarre murder took place in the Everglades National Park two nights ago. Take a look at this picture. Eighteen-year-old Bethany Roberson of Nutley, New Jersey was last seen at the Homestead Miami Speedway. She reportedly left with a man at around midnight and was later found tied to a mangrove tree, her body dismembered. Police don't have many clues to go on—_

Monica leaned forward as adrenaline shot through her. "Hey, Robert, you don't suppose…."

The redheaded FBI agent stared at the screen for a moment. Then he shook his head. "Nah. Not possible. That cabin's out in the middle of nowhere. How the hell would he get to the speedway on his own? Besides, he knows to lay low."

She shrugged with a smirk. "Hey, you know these guys are capable of all kinds of things."

"Look, Monica. They find dead bodies out in the national parks all the time. Hikers, dead bangers, poachers. They just said she was mutilated."

"I don't like it."

"I'll go check on him today, okay? Make you feel better?"

"When are you gonna take care of everything?"

"Be patient. This is just gonna take a little time."

"They're gonna figure out a guy's missing from Death Row, don't you think?"

"I took care of that. So I'll just find our girlfriends, hand them over to him, and my friend takes us to Kuwait. And after Domeyer holds up his end of the bargain, he's just gonna take off for parts unknown." He then held his lips to hers again. "And you never have to work in a supermarket aisle again."

"That guy weirds me out" she said into his lips. She then moved her hand under his arm and pushed herself away. "Look, I gotta go. I can't be late or they'll send me back to lockup."

Peeler smiled as he watched her. "Don't worry, Monica honey. Not much longer."


	7. Natural Born Killer

**Chapter 7—Natural Born Killer**

"_George Eliot once said, 'Cruelty, like every other vice, requires no motive outside of itself. It only requires opportunity.'"_

Agents Hotchner, Morgan, Prentiss, Rossi, and Dr. Reid all gathered around the gray table as the jet whisked them to Miami. JJ would stay at the BAU with Garcia.

"What have you got in your hands there, Morgan?" Emily wanted to know.

The profiler cupped his hands to his chest. "Nothing."

Reid craned his neck from across the table. "Oh, so you _were_ eating my cookies! See? I didn't do such a bad job."

"Okay, so I didn't have time to eat this morning. Figured I'd grab some and keep the Pepto Bismol handy."

"You don't need Pepto Bismol if they have a high concentration of baking soda" Reid reminded him. "It'll neutralize stomach acid."

"Yeah, thanks Reid."

As he laid out photos and reports, Agent Hotchner glanced around, letting everyone know that it was time to get down to business. "Okay, so we know the unsub lured Bethany Roberson into the Everglades National Forest. He then tied her to the tree by her wrists while she was alive, skinned and eviscerated her. No sign of sexual assault or blunt-forced trauma anywhere on the body. He then slept it off. I checked with Lieutenant Horatio Caine a short time ago. Miami PD still hasn't recovered her silver Corolla."

"Murder by evisceration is extremely rare" Reid added. "This unsub would likely fit the same profile as any serial killer or psychosexual sadist. Taking his time suggests he was getting his sexual gratification by inflicting as much pain and suffering on the victim as possible."

"He could either be a loner or someone who has friends or even family but leads a double life" Rossi suggested. "He's comfortable being secluded for long stretches of time. He could be that guy down the street that the neighbors think is nice but quiet, but nobody suspects him of anything. The BTK Killer, Dennis Rader, was married thirty-three years and a member of Christ Lutheran Church in Wichita."

"Statistically he'd be a white male, early twenties to mid thirties" Reid said. "One of his parents might have died, or they might have split up when he was an early age. He'd have to blend in with whatever his surroundings are. If he was comfortable with the Homestead Miami Speedway, he'd most likely be a race fan. At the same time, if he has hunting skills, he's probably in good physical condition."

"But why out there in Everglades National Park?" Morgan wanted to know.

"Privacy, maybe? Easy cleanup? Less of a chance anybody finds the dead bodies" Emily reasoned. "Take the body apart and then walk away, letting the alligators and the bears do the cleanup?"

"There's a body-sized imprint on the ground, suggesting the unsub slept after eviscerating Bethany" Hotchner said. "Either the unsub knew the area…."

"Or maybe he might have been high" Morgan said. "If he were on some kind of mind-altering drug, like PCP, marijuana or LSD, he might have been oblivious to the danger of being out there."

Emily motioned toward the pages on the table. "Take another look at Dr. Woods's autopsy report. It says 'All major vessels leading to organs were severed cleanly with a sharp object, such as a knife, blade estimated to be about six inches in length. Several small hesitation marks noted on the abdominal skin inferior to the sternum were noted.'"

Hotchner looked at the photo and then the paper. "Hesitation marks?"

"The unsub's done this before, but hesitation marks could mean one of two things" Reid said. "Either it's been a long time between kills, or the Everglades National Park _wasn't_ his familiar surroundings. Or both."

"But why? The guy's obviously done this before, and he's gonna do it again if he's not stopped. He might use drugs, but he undoubtedly gets a high off this kind of sadism, and he's not going to deny himself. Pretty soon he'll be like any other junkie, living only for his next fix."

Hotchner glanced at the photos again and put them down. "Lieutenant Caine says the Miami area's never had any known murders like this. They've seen it happen with animals. There's a large Caribbean population in the area. Voodoo and Santeria. Some followers have been known to practice animal sacrifices."

"But never humans."

"There have been rare occasions of this kind of human sacrifice" Reid said. "Been known to happen more frequently in South America or Africa. But whoever performs the sacrifices wouldn't just leave the organs on the ground like that. They either would've been burned or eaten as a sacrifice to the gods. These rituals would also take place under certain conditions, like a full moon or a particular holiday."

Morgan pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial. "Lemme check with Garcia to find out if there was anything else going on besides the qualifiers."

Garcia smiled as she hit the button on her phone. "You've reached the Office of the All-Knowing."

"Hey! Garcia! Need you to find out if there was something besides the qualifiers going on. Did South Florida have a full moon or something?"

"Honey, I don't have to be in South Florida to look at _your_ full moon" she purred.

Morgan grinned. "Come on! Give it up!"

The blonde analyst tapped the keyboard. "Okay, according to NOAA, South Florida was in a waning gibbous cycle two nights ago. Not likely anyone would be hunting by moonlight. I'm gonna make sure there was nothing else. Hold on, let me work some more magic." She tapped keys again. "Nope, nothing."

"Thanks." With that he snapped his phone shut. "Nothing." He glanced at his phone when it rang again. "What's up? Forget something?"

Garcia sounded more urgent now. "I've got JJ here. You wanted me to look into murders that involved evisceration in state and federal land?"

"What'd you find?"

"Morgan, it's JJ. Put us on speaker!"

With that he clicked his phone and laid it on the table. "JJ and Garcia."

"What is it?" Hotchner wanted to know, leaning toward the table.

The blue screens reflected back at Garcia's red-framed glasses. "I cross-checked MO with all federal national parks."

"Hotch, we came across Richard Domeyer, alias Talladega Slasher."

Agent Rossi furrowed his eyebrows. "Talladega Slasher? He was convicted in the late nineties."

"Exactly" JJ said. "The Talladega Slasher was convicted in Birmingham, Alabama on seven counts. Same MO." She held her pen to her lips as she scrolled through a newspaper article. "This guy's one sick puppy. Says here he worked in the meat department in a Winn Dixie in Crestline, a suburb southeast of Birmingham. Convicted of murdering seven girls, all under the age of twenty-one. Met all of them at the Talladega Speedway during events. Since they were all underage, he'd offer to buy them drinks. All of them were found murdered in the same five-mile area of the Talladega National Forest the next day, found either by campers, weather spotters, or park rangers."

Reid furrowed his eyebrows. "Talladega Slasher. I read about him. Exhibited classic anger excitation and retaliatoriation behavior on his victims. He's been on Death Row nearly ten years now."

"You think we might be dealing with a copycat?" Hotchner asked.

"That's what I called about" JJ said. "Garcia just got an All Points from Birmingham Max. Robert Domeyer's missing."

"Missing from Death Row?" Emily wanted to know. "How's that possible?"

"No idea" Garcia said as she tapped keys. "But I'm looking at the Birmingham Max prisoner database right now." She shook her head. "Somebody hacked into their system and redid his files. This guy's good. Gonna take me hours to figure out what happened."

"When did this happen?"

"Hold on. Says Domeyer was last accounted for…six days ago. Since then nobody's seen him." She scrolled through the black screen. "Wait a minute! Said here he was released!"

"How?"

"I don't know."

"What else does it say?"

There was silence on the line.

"Garcia? JJ?"

"Somebody went through a lot of trouble to make this guy disappear, Hotch."

"So if he is in the wind, why would he be in Florida?" Morgan wanted to know.

"Beats me. Right now all I have to go on is old newspaper reports" Garcia said. "No prison records, no medical reports, no arrest records. Nothing."

Hotchner tightened his lips. "JJ, I want you to call Lieutenant Caine. Tell him we're on our way. But if The Talladega Slasher's in Florida, it's gonna be a bigger mess than anybody anticipated."


	8. Till Death Do We Part

**Chapter 8—Till Death Do We Part**

**A/N: I would like to thank everyone who had given reviews. They mean a lot to me.**

* * *

"Lieutenant Caine. Special Agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit. With me is Dr. Spencer Reid, Agent Emily Prentiss, and Agent Derek Morgan."

Dutifully Horatio shook hands with the dark-haired agent, but it was clear in his weathered blue eyes that he wasn't happy about having feds of any stripe invading Miami, least of all now. "Agent Hotchner. Thank you for coming. I'd like to make it clear though, that it was IAB who requested your presence."

"I understand. But since leaving Quantico, we've found some information that might be useful to you."

"How?"

Hotchner dipped his head. "We think we know who the unsub is."

"The hell is an 'unsub'?" Frank asked harshly.

"Unsub' is a term we use. It stands for 'unknown subject'" Reid explained.

Frank furrowed his eyebrows. "This kid old enough to be a fed?"

"Dr. Spencer Reid. I'm a profiler, actually."

"Rare act of kindness on the part of the U.S. Government" Morgan said. "Someone left him in a basket on the doorstep of the FBI."

"Well, I think we better get your department together, Lieutenant" Hotchner said.

"Frank, go ahead and call the lab into the auditorium" Horatio said.

"They're all down there. Everybody except Boa Vista."

"Where is Boa Vista?"

"Nobody's heard from her all morning. She didn't show up for work. Not answering her cell phone, either."

* * *

"My name's Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. I'm with the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia. My colleagues and I are here at the request of Lieutenant Rick Stetler concerning the Bethany Roberson murder. You're looking for a white male, age twenty-five to forty."

"He may or may not have a stable family life. If he does, he leads a double life" Rossi said. "He may work in a hospital, a veterinary clinic, a restaurant, or a meat-packing plant. Crime scenes suggest that he's comfortable in deep wooded areas. He most likely has hunting experience."

"We believe he's not native to the South Florida area" Emily Prentiss said. "We recommend you start checking with Florida hunting licenses. Then take your search national. Do the same with medical licenses. We'll be checking with rangers in the Everglades area. Agent Morgan?"

Morgan stepped forward. "While we were enroute from Quantico, we had no idea who the suspect might be. This morning the FBI got a bulletin that Robert Domeyer, alias Talladega Slasher, has fallen out of the system. He may be part of an elaborate escape plan. The FBI headquarters has since found out that the Birmingham prisoner database has been hacked. Someone knew the code and the passwords. They managed to transfer Robert Domeyer's records from Death Row to GP. As a result, he was released on administrative error a week ago."

"While we believe he's still in the United States, he's definitely in the wind" Hotchner explained. "DOT's in Alabama and the surrounding states are checking footage from truck stops and gas stations. So far there's nothing we've been able to go on. Our technical analyst is in the process of sorting out the hacker attack. Someone get the lights, please?"

An officer turned off the lights as Morgan stood behind the laptop. "Robert Domeyer, The Talladega Slasher, is a white male from central Alabama in his late thirties. In 1999 he was convicted of seven counts of murder. He fits the profile, and the MO was identical to that of Bethany Roberson. He attended events at the Talladega Speedway and bought beer or wine coolers for underage girls, all of which were from northern states. They were then found eviscerated in the same way within a five-mile radius in the Talladega National Forest. Officer?"

"How can you be sure this is the Talladega Slasher we're dealing with, or if it's a copycat?" Calleigh wanted to know.

"Good question. We've considered both possibilities. Dr. Woods found hesitation marks on Bethany Roberson's right arm, meaning the unsub has either been out of practice or was unfamiliar with his surroundings. Or both."

Ryan Wolfe put up one finger. Morgan nodded to him.

"Yeah, CSI Ryan Wolfe. Why would this guy come to Florida of all places?"

"We don't know the answer to that" Rossi said.

Ryan then remembered. Discreetly he stood up and sidled over to Agent Hotchner. "Agent Hotchner, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Hotchner nodded as the two slipped out into the hallway.

"CSI Ryan Wolfe. My wife worked on that case. She was a cyberagent in Birmingham. Emmie Wolfe. Well, Emmie Stockburne at the time."

"Really? Where's your wife now?"

"She's, uh, taking a little vacation in South Beach."

"Can you call her? We'll need to speak with her as soon as possible."

* * *

Emmie lay on her stomach among the scented pillows, breathing in the combination of the tropical florals and the sea breeze. The cabana's nylon curtains fluttered around her. But something still tugged at her heart.

The lady wore a mandarin-collared red uniform and carried a small drink tray. Her long black braid trailed elegantly down her back. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Wolfe. So it looks like you're here for a nice little getaway? Well, we're glad you could join us."

Emmie turned her face toward her. "Thanks."

"My name's Eileen. I'll be your attendant this afternoon." Gingerly she handed Emmie a blue glass that looked something like a mojito. "This is a special blend of tropical fruits and vitamins." Eileen gestured around her made-up face as she lectured. "Very good for helping you get that glow back by getting some of those toxins out that make you look older, tired, stressed." She then drew the gold curtains. "Now I'll step out while you slip out of your robe and under these sheets. Lie face up, and I'll be back in a few minutes."

Emmie closed her eyes as Eileen gently worked the sweet-smelling lotion over her tanned skin and slowly, delicately worked her fingers and thumbs under Emmie's neck, scalp, and forehead, working down to her shoulders , arms and fingers. The tropical scent of the massage oil and the sounds of the beach carried her away, just like they were meant to. She could feel herself drifting, almost going to sleep once or twice.

Without a word Eileen folded up the sheets, exposing her belly and her legs. "Hmm. Those are some very bad scars you have, Mrs. Wolfe. Were you in an accident of some sort?"

She felt a twinge of anger. "You could say that" she said flatly.

Eileen paid no attention to her tone as she worked the oil into the red scar that was Emmie's emergency C-section. "I'm going to use this on that scar. This is a high concentration of collagen and Vitamins A and E to help fade that. If you like, I can recommend a good cosmetic surgeon."

_Dexter lay next to her on the bed. He ran his rough hands up and down her belly. "How you feeling, Sweetheart?"_

_She looked up at him with an exhausted smile. "Tired. Doctor says everything looks good."_

_He leaned on his elbow as he looked into her eyes, his hand still slowly running up and down. "This make you feel better?"_

_She nodded and then held his arm against her face. _

"_What is it, honey?"_

"_I'm scared."_

_The Navy Seal smiled and stroked her hair. "It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be a great mom. Just you wait and see."_

_In the darkness she struggled to dial the phone while she tucked her knees to her chest, the blood-soaked sheets clinging to her legs. She convulsed and whimpered with each wave of pain. _

"_911. What's your emergency?"_

"_Please. Help me. I'm bleeding!" she whispered, tears streaming down her face and wetting the pillow. _

"_Ma'am?"_

"_My baby. Please. My baby! Oh God, help me!"_

"_Stay on the phone, Ma'am. Help is on the way. Tell me what's wrong."_

_The lights of the emergency room nearly blinded her. Medics and nurses seemed to twist her body in all directions to try to stop the bleeding. _

"_Mrs. Qualls. Can you hear me? We're getting you into Labor and Delivery. Stay with us, okay?"_

"_We did everything we could, Mrs. Qualls. I'm very sorry. The Chaplain's contacting your husband."_

Tears streamed down her face to the perfumed pillow. Reflexively she reached down and yanked the sheet over her tanned skin. Eileen backed up. "Mrs. Wolfe, are you all right?"

"Get out!" she snarled, holding her abdomen protectively.

"Ma'am, I-. Did I do something wrong?"

Holding the sheet over her collarbone, she sat up, her wet eyes blazing at the dumbfounded woman. "Just get out of here! I can't be perfect for you and your…" She pointed to the closed curtains. "Just get out of here! _Get out!"_

Without another word the woman gathered up her basket and backed out, leaving Emmie holding her face and sobbing uncontrollably. She slipped back into the linen robe and lay on her side among the pillows, holding a bronze pillow over her scarred abdomen, her hand over her face, not caring who heard her cries, while the surf crashed in the background.


	9. What Schemes May Come

**Chapter 9—What Schemes May Come**

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Click. Click. _

Natalia sat on the musty, damp wooden floorboards. Her head drooped in pain and exhaustion. She quaked with fear. Her sweat-soaked hair clung to her neck, while her purple blouse clung to her skin. She felt a sharp pain every time she took a deep breath after being kicked by Monica's sharp-toed shoes. Her eyes and her mouth were duct taped. Her torso and her wrists were tied to a post with nylon cord. She occasionally shifted her feet from one side to the other.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Click. Click. _

Peeler smiled as he watched her head and shoulders jerk with every tap of his laptop. The sadist in him enjoyed it.

Suddenly Natalia held her head up and whimpered, almost as though begging him to stop. He tilted his head in mock sympathy. "Am I scaring you?"

Monica West crept along the damp, creaky floorboards with two water bottles. She set one on the ledge. "Here, have some water, Boa Vista. It's nice and cold" she said deliberately, knowing Natalia was probably thirsty by now.

Though the CSI couldn't see anything, she jerked her head up and turned it side to side, almost as though trying to see something.

"You okay over there, Boa Vista?" she said with contempt. Life on the inside had changed Monica forever, to be sure. Before her arrest, she had always cared about herself and her career. Now she was capable of making someone else hurt, just because she could.

The cyberagent sniffed. "Hell, you didn't have to kick her so hard like that."

"Yes I did." The former attorney looked at Natalia again, her foot tilted forward, thinking about kicking her in the ribs again.

"Save some for Domeyer, Darlin.' I kinda promised him."

She leaned on the edge of the table. "Where'd you find that guy, anyway? He weirds me out."

"Agent Stockburne helped me dig him up. He's really not a bad guy once you get to know him."

Monica then rested her arms on his shoulder and peered at his laptop. "So what did you find?"

"My girlfriend'll be leaving the _Tuscan Palms_ tomorrow." He whistled. "The _Tuscan Palms_ Resort and Spa, huh? Looks pricey! South Beach, huh? I'd say Daddy and Ryan have been good to her."

Natalia tilted her head down again to listen for something. Anything besides their plans, just in case she managed to free herself. Nothing but crickets. Loons. Bugs buzzing through the air. She hoped to hear something that might give her a point of reference. Airplanes. Helicopters. Cars. Maybe an airboat.

Peeler smiled at her again. "Don't worry, Boa Vista. I'll bring you somebody to play with tomorrow."

She jerked her head at hearing her name.

"Think we should leave her alone in here tonight?"

He tipped his head up at the laptop. "Don't see why not. Nothing out here but the alligators. She'll be okay. Domeyer put these together. She'll sleep good." From his laptop case he pulled out an insulin injector and walked over to where the CSI sat and squirmed on the dusty, damp floor. "Here you go, Boa Vista. Night night time." He grabbed her arm. "Hold still."

Natalia shrieked through the duct tape and squirmed as violently as the cords would let her, whipping her head around. The burly FBI agent held her forearm and jabbed the needle into her bicep. She jerked her head up when she felt the pinprick. "Best part of it is, you won't remember any of this."

Her captors watched her as she shook for a minute and then let her head drop forward.

"Sleep tight" Peeler said with a grin. "Don't let the alligators bite."

Monica found herself running her fingers along his strong shoulders. "Why don't we get out of here?"

A smile crossed his face. "I'll pack up my laptop."

* * *

Morgan hit the speed dial on his phone.

Garcia smiled and twirled her pink pencil as she hit the button. "_Hola_, my chocolate mojito."

He smiled. "Hey! Baby Girl. Find out anything on Birmingham Max yet?"

Her tone changed as she rattled her keyboard. "I swear, if I ever find out who hacked this database, I'm gonna backhack his system till it resembles something between a Commodore 64 and the Rock of Gibraltar. This one's good. I hate when they're good."

"Aw, but not as good as you, Princess."

"You're just saying that because it's true, my bronze god. Okay. Untangling six months worth of code has been totally useless, so I called in a favor with a guy in Cybercrimes up the street. He did some digging around and found out that just before the blackout period, a Robert Peeler made a call to the IT department in the Dade County Women's Corrections."

"Who's Robert Peeler?"

"He's been the section chief for the FBI Cybercrimes field office in Birmingham, Alabama since 1995. Now get this. He's showing up in the FBI HR database as being on two weeks' leave, but nobody's been able to reach his cell phone." Screens popped up on her monitors. She shook her head. "No activity on his credit card. He did take an FBI staff car, which is kind of abusing the privilege, but hey. I guess it's good to be the boss."

Morgan stepped into the next room. "Senior agent? When did he leave?"

Garcia tapped keys again. "According to this, six days ago. No passport information, no credit card activity, no reserved hotel rooms. Looks like he did make a big withdrawal from Gulf States Credit Union two weeks ago."

Morgan furrowed his eyebrows. "Wait a minute. That was about the same time Domeyer disappeared from Birmingham Max. And there's only one reason why a fed takes off with that much cash. I don't think Agent Peeler wants to be found."

"You, my vision, are as smart as you are handsome. If you ask me, this Peeler guy's looking pretty slimy. Cyberbuddy of mine up the street worked with him. Said he's a class-one, well, you know."

"Yeah, I got it. And what about this Monica West?"

"Well, this is where it gets interesting. Monica West. Former Florida State's Attorney for the Miami district. Convicted of grand theft, evidence tampering, impeding an investigation, all primary felonies in the State of Florida. My my, you've been a bad girl, Monica. Anyway, her sentence got cut short for good behavior and probably budget cuts in the prison system. She's currently on work release with eighteen days left. Says here she served as a trustee with the IT department."

"What else?"

Garcia tapped keys again. "Well, that's all I could find on Sweet Monica. But I know the Federal Bureau of Prisons and a lot of the state systems have uniform codes for their databases. Who's to say she didn't get access to it?"

"Yeah, but she was an attorney. How would she know what to look for?"

"Unless a missing cyberagent from Birmingham tells you where to find it six months before the fact. The code was definitely legit. Something I'd use to move a guy to GP and then early release."

Morgan dipped his head. "Some kind of an inside job."

"Maybe you better find out what Sweet Monica was talking about with Agent Peeler."

"I'm gonna do that. Thanks, Baby Girl."

Garcia got a smile to her voice. "Looks like you're gonna be too busy to be partying in SoBe."

"Hey! I'm _not_ doing any partying!"

The analyst grinned now. "_Au contraire, mon cher_. I'm looking at a picture of you wearing a red thong and holding a beer with a lemon wedge. Nothing else."

"What? Garcia—"

The blonde tech had a smile in her voice. "Now you know I'm the queen of Photoshop!"

"Hey! Don't make me spank you in front of everybody when I get back there!" Morgan spun around when something came into his peripheral vision.

Horatio and Delko stood outside the door, watching him expectantly. He quickly covered his face when Delko gave him a knowing grin. He then put up his finger to let them know he'd be there in a minute before he closed the door. "Thanks, Garcia."

She smiled. He wanted to say something else.

"Garcia" he nearly whispered, looking around, "I better _not_ find any pictures of me in a thong!"

She leaned back and twirled her pink pen again. "Don't worry, my _café cubano_" she purred. "You'll never, ever find them."

Morgan smirked at his phone as he hung up, glancing at Horatio and Hotchner.

"What did Garcia have to say?" Hotchner wanted to know.

"She's still working on untangling the Birmingham Max database. A high-level FBI cyberagent named Robert Peeler made contact with a Monica West just before somebody hacked into it. It's possible this Robert Peeler may be in the wind."

Horatio cocked his head. "Monica West."

"You know her?" Morgan said.

"I do. She's a firm believer in career management. Gentlemen" Horatio said "I think we better have a talk with Miss West."


	10. Death Grip

**Chapter 10—Death Grip**

The older, gray-haired man wore a checkered shirt that hung lazily over his jeans. He was close to retirement and generally hid in that office, so no real need to spiff up, he reasoned. He jerked his head up when he heard a loud knock on the office door, reaching over to open it.

"Todd Goins?"

"Yeah." He was surprised to see this many badges and uniforms in the doorway. "Can I help you?"

"FBI. We have a warrant to search your database!" Hotchner pushed the folded paper into his hands, not waiting for an answer as the parade of feds and officers stepped past him. He glanced down at the paper again. "What's going on? What's the problem?"

"_You're_ the problem!" Rossi spat. "There was an escape at Birmingham Max, and we traced phone calls from your office just before their database was hacked!"

"I don't get it. What would that have to do with me?"

"Monica West worked for you as a trustee" Hotchner said as Morgan sat down at the terminal.

"Yeah, as an admin. What about her?"

"Did you give her access to the database codes?"

"Hell no! Why would I be doing that?"

"Somebody hacked the Birmingham prison database using code from this office, Todd!" Morgan hissed as he stood up. "Monica spoke to a cyberagent in Birmingham. We were able to trace the phone records." He now paced around the IT administrator like a cat getting ready to pounce on its prey. "So tell me something. Did the lawyer cut a deal with you? Yeah, I thought so. She gave you a little something in exchange for the database code! We know how it is on the inside, Todd. No such thing as a free lunch. Well, I hope what she gave you was worth it, because that's where _you're_ going! Now _you're_ gonna learn all about doing favors."

Warrant still in hand, he lifted his arms in surrender. "All right, all right! Look, she said she was taking online classes and needed the practice!" He motioned toward the monitor. "See for yourself!"

Morgan sat down at the monitor. "You didn't think we were gonna take you word for it, did you, Todd?" He sat down and dialed the phone.

Garcia hit the button. "Office of the All Knowing, All Seeing."

He smiled. "Garcia. Got you on speaker. We're at Ground Zero for the IT systems at Dade County Lockup. Todd Goins here is over the IT department." He glanced angrily at the man who stood by the wall now. "Looks like he might have let Monica West have the database code, where she might have sent it to Robert Peeler. What can you find out?"

JJ sat by as Garcia as she tapped keys. "Been working nonstop on Birmingham Max. My, what a tangled web we weave, Todd. Looks like the binary code was plugged in from a remote location in a Birmingham, Alabama cybercafé. Our hacker did it a little at a time. Just enough to have Domeyer transferred over to the GP one day, then have him up for early release. Hold on. Here it is. Got some bogus IP addresses, but they all come out of the Muggs Cybercafe."

"Got a card number for the cybercafe?"

"Sorry, our hacker paid cash for his minutes. But it looks like the logon and logoff times coincide with Robert Peeler's lunch hour for each day. Muggs Cybercafe in Birmingham is a fifteen-minute drive from the FBI satellite office. According to the logon and logoff times, Robert Peeler would have been able to drive there, do some dirty work on Birmingham Max's database, logoff, suck down his mocha latte grande, and head back to the office like nothing happened."

"No way to prove this was Peeler?"

"Hey, guys. JJ here. Nope. None."

"How about some online courses Monica West took? Supposedly?"

The blonde analyst shook her head as she tapped keys. "That one was probably the easiest to figure out. This was where Peeler got sloppy."

"Got Introduction to Computers, Text Editing and Software Packages, all from bogus IP addresses. Looks like Peeler was in a hurry that day" JJ said.

"How do you know that?" Rossi asked.

"Since when did the Birmingham FBI satellite office offer online courses to Dade County Lockup?"

"Hands behind your back!" Hotchner growled as he snapped cuffs on him. "Todd Goins, you're under arrest. Rossi, call the Miami-Dade Crime Lab. Let them know that Peeler might be in the area."

With gloved hands, Delko, Calleigh and Ryan rummaged through Monica's small apartment. "She must've known we were coming" Calleigh said.

Delko pointed behind him toward the door. "Spoke with the landlady. She said there was a black four-door sedan parked out back one night. She couldn't see, but she thought it had U.S. Government tags. Said she didn't think anything of it because she knew Monica was on work release and thought it might be a probation officer."

"Didn't seem strange to her that a probation officer would spend the night?" Calleigh said.

"She didn't know who the car belonged to. Figured it was somebody's guest or family."

Ryan knelt down and opened a bottom dresser drawer, shuffling through piles of notes and papers. One caught his attention. In pencil he recognized a series of zero's and ones. "Hey, check this out. This looks like binary code."

Calleigh peered over his shoulder. "You sure?"

"Emmie works with it all the time. Every computer program is just a series of zero's and ones in a certain order."

"So Monica definitely had something to do with this." She held out an evidence bag. "Get it back to the lab and see if Tyler can work this."

Ryan's cell phone chirped. He glanced at the screen. "I gotta take this. Hey."

Emmie tipped her head down. "Hi Sweet Stuff."

Ryan smiled and ran his hand through his hair. "Emmie? Been trying to get a hold of you."

"Sorry, had my phone off. Everything okay?"

"We're working a case. You remember Robert Peeler, your old boss from the FBI?"

"Yeah. What about him?"

"We think he might be in the area. Where are you?"

She glanced at the palmettos and mangroves around her. "Just taking a drive through the Glades on my way home. Ryan, is everything okay?"

He paused. "Nat's been missing."

"Oh my God. You sure?"

"Positive. And we had a murder up in the swamp. Lot like the Talladega Slasher case."

"No. It's gotta be a copycat."

"Emmie, he's escaped. There's a nationwide manhunt going on."

She went silent. The secluded relaxation she'd felt at the spa was dashed in an instant.

"Emmie, you okay? Here's what I want you to do. Get to the main roads as soon as possible."

She furrowed her eyebrows when she saw a black car in her rear view mirror. She held tightly to the steering wheel and stared. It was closing in behind her on the long two-lane road. Red and blue lights flashed angrily from the grill.

"You okay? What's going on?"

Her eyes were still fixed on the mirror as she instinctively let up on the accelerator. "Uh, yeah. I'm fine. I got an FBI car behind me. What the hell's it doing out here, though?"

Ryan gripped his cell phone. Eric and Calleigh watched him. "Wolfe, what's happening?" Delko wanted to know.

"Emmie! Get the hell out of there! Don't stop! Get to a safe place, now!" He turned toward Delko and Calleigh. "Somebody call patrol! Get Tyler to Emmie's cell number!"

Through the tinted window she saw a large figure with sunglasses and had a sick feeling in her stomach. Her hands started to sweat as she gripped the wheel even more tightly. Adrenaline shot through her now as she dropped the cell phone on the seat and floored the accelerator. The Blazer's engine roared as the Glades and the crumbling road flew under her. "Ryan? Oh God!"

Ryan dipped his head. "Emmie? I'm right here! Don't stop for anything! Don't let that car catch up with you! Keep your cell phone on. Delko's on the phone with highway patrol right now, and they're gonna track your cell phone. Hang in there!"

She didn't answer. Even the Vortec engine was no match for the sleek black staff car as it sped up and clipped her back wheel with a SNAP, sending her out of control. Instinctively she slammed on the brakes and pulled hard left on the wheel as her SUV skidded along the slick sawgrass, and then finally into the ditch. The airbag exploded with a BANG! Her head went into the pillow, then rested back on the seat.

"_Emmie!"_

"_Hello, Agent Stockburne" _he heard a voice say_. "What'd you run away for? C'mon, we're going for a little ride."_

_"Ryan!"_

A snap. Then nothing.


	11. Hopeless

**Chapter 11—Hopeless**

With good reason, Spencer Reid could sense the tension in the MDPD. He'd never met this Emmie Wolfe, but it was clear that she was missed, he thought. As he poured himself some more coffee, he kept his head down.

There was one last chocolate muffin on the crumb-filled plate. He reached for it.

"Hey! That's mine!" a voice barked.

Instinctively he straightened up and jerked his hand back. "Uh, sorry, I thought you'd already had the banana nut one."

As he stepped forward and picked up the lone muffin, Frank's eyes blazed at Spencer, sure to let him know that nobody here was happy about Feds calling the shots. "Last guy that stole my chocolate muffin ended up in the hospital."

"But isn't that your third one?" Spencer protested. "You know, a lot of homicide detectives have elevated blood pressure and cholesterol rates from eating too many sweets because of the job-related stress."

"Your point being?"

Spencer cleared his throat. "Well, each one of those chocolate muffins has twenty-two grams of fat, over forty grams of sugar, and probably three hundred fifty calories. The banana nut muffin you had earlier has even more cholesterol from the walnuts. Uh, Sir."

"And do you know how many kids had to see proctologists last year for being smartasses, _Dr. Reed?_"

Spencer swallowed and backed off. "Sorry."

For a second, Frank stared at the lonely muffin on the plate and then looked warily at Dr. Reid. "You eat it."

Cautiously Spencer picked it up. "Thanks."

* * *

Tyler shook his head sadly. "Nope. Nothing. Those cell phone chips only track in Real Time."

"He must've turned it off" Emily Prentiss said. "What about a GPS for the FBI staff car?"

Tyler tapped the keyboard again. "There are GPS finders all over South Florida. How do I know which one is an FBI staff car?"

"Hold on." The black-haired agent put on the speaker and dialed Tyler's desk phone.

* * *

Garcia punched the button. "Office of the All Knowing, All Seeing. If I can't find it, it doesn't exist."

Tyler furrowed his eyebrows at the speaker, but Emily smiled knowingly. "Garcia, I have…."

"Tyler Jensen."

"Tyler Jensen here. He's the Miami-Dade A/V specialist. He used to work for Emmie Wolfe. We're pretty sure that Robert Peeler grabbed Emmie, and now they're both missing, along with CSI Boa Vista."

Garcia shook her head. "Along with the Talladega Slasher and Sweet Monica. Everything about Peeler just says 'creep.'"

"Here's the deal. Tyler's been trying to track anything—an FBI staff car's GPS, a cell phone number, anything. If Robert Peeler is driving an FBI staff car, it should be giving off a signal."

The blonde analyst clicked keys. "You're right. It should. Problem is, the one that's registered to him isn't giving off anything. Okay, Creep, where's your car? Where's your cell phone? I bet you disabled the GPS on that thing, just like you disabled everything else you got your hands on. Just shoot me if I ever get this destructive." She shook her head. "Sorry, no Emmie Wolfe, no Creep, no staff car."

"Any kind of GPS tracker on Emmie's Blazer?"

Garcia tapped keys again. "Let's see, Emmie Wolfe, 2000 Chevy Blazer. Older model. Nope, they didn't have them. And no cell phone number either. Hate to say it, but Emmie Wolfe has effectively disappeared, along with CSI Boa Vista, Creep One and Creep Two. I can give you this guy's government tag number, though."

"Great. I think Miami already has a BOLO on it. Emmie said she was out in the Glades somewhere. According to Ryan Wolfe, she was coming back from the Tuscan Palms Resort and Spa on South Beach and headed back to their home."

"Okay, let me work a little magic" Garcia said. She blinked at the screen. "Wow! Tuscan Palms. I'd sure like to go there."

Emily smiled. "Morgan can give you a raincheck."

"Thanks. Now from South Beach to their condo in Miami. That should be…Wow. Looks like Emmie _really_ wanted to take the scenic route. Assuming she didn't want to pay the toll to take Highway 997, she would've taken Highway 41 and turned north somewhere at Sweetwater. Looking at Google maps of this area. Two lane road. Lots of lakes, lots of tall grass, lots of places for creeps to hide out."

"Yeah, we know" Tyler said.

Hotchner stared at his phone as he hurried through the door. Tyler and Emily stiffened up.

"What's going on?"

"Local patrol just found Emmie Wolfe's white Blazer in a ditch out in Everglades National Park."

"Thanks, Garcia" Emily said.

"Anytime." With that Garcia clicked off the phone.

* * *

A helicopter circled around the once-deserted two-lane road, fanning the swarm of patrol cars. Through their sunglasses, Horatio and Agent Hotchner followed the sets of tire marks along the whitened pavement.

The white Chevy Blazer had come to rest in the ditch, its front end firmly planted in the mud. Both front and rear doors on the passenger side were still open. The airbags were draped over the steering wheel and dashboard like curtains. The stench of oil and transmission fluid hung in the air.

"This is definitely her vehicle" Horatio said.

"Air patrol spotted it" Frank said. "Canines swept through the fields, Horatio. No sign of her or anybody else."

"That wheel base" Morgan said, pacing behind them. "That looks like the right size for a staff car. Tire tracks are fresh back there along that gravel road, like the car peeled out."

"H? Same tire track goes sideways just before the Blazer started to roll onto the grass" Delko said.

Horatio climbed around the broken Blazer, his blue eyes probing for anything. A huge smear mark on the dusty window caught his attention. "Calleigh? Eric? Have you taken a look at this?"

Both CSI's came to the back and looked.

"She doesn't wash this thing, does she?" Calleigh observed as she snapped pictures.

"No" Horatio said. "And a good thing for us. Mr. Wolfe said he heard a voice, and then her phone went dead." He pointed to the mud along the road. "Right there."

"Drag marks."

"She was unconscious when he took her."

Hotchner looked on while Calleigh processed the inside of the Blazer. Pink, perfumed shopping bags had flown down onto the floorboards. A coffee cup lay smashed under the airbag.

"Emmie was definitely trying to get away from this guy" Morgan said as he glanced around.

"Calleigh, did you find her cell phone?" Horatio wanted to know.

Calleigh straightened up and shook her head. "Nothing. I did find this, though." She held out a burgundy purse. Horatio glanced into it. "Looks like Emmie was all this guy wanted. Wallet, keys, ID, receipts from the spa. Everything's here."

Horatio looked over Calleigh's shoulder as she thumbed through the scattered pink shopping bags.

"Hm. Lotion. Candles. Negligee."

"Looks like she had plans for when Ryan got home."

"He wasn't as careful this time, and that means there's a good chance he made a mistake. Take a sample of that soil and get it to the lab."

Calleigh scanned the faded back seat with her fluorescent light. She then stopped. As seasoned as she was, she could feel a chill. This was personal. Without a word she took out a swab.

Horatio stood behind her. "What is it?"

"Biologicals."

He saw the mark under the fluorescent light. He closed his eyes and sighed quietly. "Just get it to the lab."


	12. A Very Dark Place

**Chapter 12—A Very Dark Place**

Tyler tapped keys and then sat back as Garcia appeared on the blue-backed screen. Agents Rossi and Hotchner stood on either side of him. "Garcia, what did you find out?" Hotchner wanted to know.

"Hey. Finally got to the end of that mess that used to be the Birmingham Max database. Definitely the dirty work of a cyberagent Robert Peeler."

"You're sure about this?" Rossi asked.

"Positive."

"JJ here. We still can't be sure it was Peeler who took Emmie Wolfe, though. We did manage to find some videos of him doing a cybercrimes lecture series for comparison. Didn't Ryan Wolfe say he heard a guy with a deep Southern accent just before his wife's phone went out?"

"That's right" Rossi said. "He's in another room. Let me call him."

* * *

Ryan Wolfe did his best to look strong and dutiful as he followed the profiler, but nobody had to guess what he was hiding inside. "You guys found anything?"

"CSI Wolfe, I have Penelope Garcia on the videocam. You said you heard a distinct voice just before your wife's phone went off."

"Yeah. That's right."

"We want you to take a listen and tell me whether this was the voice you heard. Go ahead, Garcia."

Ryan dipped his head and leaned on the desk. In an instant the pain of recognition crossed his face. He closed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah, that's him. Same voice."

Rossi nodded at the screen. "Thanks, Garcia. CSI Wolfe confirmed it. Find Robert Peeler and you'll likely find Emmie Wolfe."

Ryan clutched his stomach and looked away. "Look, if there's nothing else, I'm gonna get back to work."

"Go ahead, CSI Wolfe" Rossi said. "Thanks."

Ryan sat alone in the break room, his head down between his hands. A part of him wanted to lie in a fetal position, to run out there and rescue Emmie himself, to tear Robert Peeler to pieces with his bare hands, anything but just sit there helplessly. Soon he'd have to go home to an empty condo. She wouldn't be there to kiss him and rub his back. She wouldn't be there to call him Sweet Stuff or watch the sunrise with him. He would have to sleep alone in that bed, guessing what those animals might be doing to her. Would he ever see her alive again? He closed his eyes tightly and shook his head.

"Wolfe."

Ryan took a deep breath. He knew that voice. "What is it, Lieutenant Stetler?" he said to the floor.

Rick Stetler laid an official-looking piece of paper on the couch next to him. Ryan glanced at it. He couldn't look at the IAB agent.

"You're on paid administrative leave effective immediately" Rick said quietly. "You're too close to this case. I'm exempting you from the County's state of emergency. Go home."

"I _can't_ go home!"

"You can't stay here, either" Rick insisted firmly. "Find someplace to stay until this is all over."

Ryan still remembered the tug of war over Emmie's heart and inheritance. "You're loving this, aren't you?"

Hands in pockets, Rick just looked at the top of his head. "No. Look, about Emmie. I let my career ambitions get in the way of my judgment. I care about her too." He sighed deeply. "But she never looked at me the way she looked at you."

Ryan kept staring at the floor, holding his hands together.

"We're working with the Feds to do everything we can right now. It's not just Emmie and Boa Vista who are in danger. If the Talladega Slasher is out there, all hell's gonna break loose." Rick saw no point in dragging out the matter. "Your leave is pending the outcome of the case. We'll be in touch the second we find out anything."

* * *

Before she opened her eyes, Emmie was aware of sounds and smells she didn't recognize. The air was humid and sickeningly sweet. Her face and ribcage were sore. Her left arm was numb from being in one position. Her mind seemed to be swimming, almost as if in a dream. Whatever she was lying on was hard, dusty and uncomfortable. She moaned and touched her face where she had hit the airbag. Her head throbbed.

"Emmie?" a familiar voice whispered.

Finally she opened her eyes and looked around, finally making sense of things. It was dark. Sunlight barely filtered through some wooden planks and weeds. The air was hot, and, judging from the moisture on her skin, she had been sweating. She couldn't remember much.

"Natalia?"

The floor felt hard and dusty underneath her. As her eyes adjusted, she looked around. She could barely see that her sleeveless blouse was tucked out of her capris. Brown splotches on her clothes and her skin looked as though she'd been crawling through the dirt.

"Emmie?"

Then it all came back to her. "Natalia?"

Weakly the CSI put a hand on her shoulder. "Peeler."

"Oh my God."

Something was holding her left wrist. She yanked harder and harder, only to hear a jangling. With her right hand she groped along her arm and had a sickening feeling. He had handcuffed her to something.

It was too dark to see much of anything. With her free hand Emmie groped along her wrist, along the chain. Her fingers found a wooden support pole that felt like it had warped with age and the Florida moisture. Natalia had been handcuffed to it as well. Painfully Emmie pushed herself upright. Her head throbbed. She leaned against the pole. Natalia had gone quiet.

"Natalia?"

She didn't respond.

Emmie reached out and felt her hair and her face. "You okay?"

"I feel sick" she whispered. "I don't know where we are."

With her free hand, Emmie touched Natalia's sweaty neck. She had a very faint pulse. Her breathing was shallow. She didn't seem to be going into shock. More like a sleepiness. Emmie ran her hand further down Natalia's torso until she came to her ribcage. Natalia winced.

"Huh?"

"Ow!" She squirmed and grimaced in the faint light. She still felt pain where Monica West had kicked her.

Emmie withdrew her hand. "I'm sorry."

Natalia lay her head back on her arm.

It seemed like an eternity since she had taken hostage or prisoner-of-war training in the Marine Corps. But she knew that Natalia was in no condition to do anything right now. First thing was to figure out how to get loose from that pole.

Emmie's heart skipped and she reflexively hugged the pole when she heard footsteps and voices outside the room. Instinctively she tugged with her handcuffed arm, just for the remote possibility that it might give way and let her run from that place. Nothing happened.

She knew that voice. Robert Peeler was walking and talking with someone else. Adrenaline shot through her. Natalia never moved. Just lay there, her head hanging toward the floor.

"Got some friends who could get me the stuff" she heard him say.

"Hey, that's great, man" the mystery voice said.

Emmie closed her eyes tightly and hugged that pole for dear life. That voice sounded familiar.

_No! Go away! God, please, don't-_

As the door flew open, Emmie blinked in the light. Peeler looked at her with a sadistic smile. He clearly enjoyed seeing the two of them suffer.

"Oh, well, one of 'em's awake." He tossed what looked like a Styrofoam box into the room. It landed in front of her with a thump. "Here. Eat something. Probably your last meal."

Natalia raised her head slightly when the smell of French fries wafted into the room.

"Here's what I brought you here to show you." With one hand he grabbed a fistful of Emmie's hair. She cried out and tried to pull away from him with her free hand, but he was too strong. "It's your favorite cyberagent. Agent Stockburne, you remember the Talladega Slasher, don't you? We all used to be good friends."

The moment Emmie saw him, she felt spasms in her stomach. She went limp with fear and helplessness. The tall, wiry figure didn't smile. He just walked in and stuck that hunting knife up to her throat.

"Hello, Emmie Lou. I missed you" he sneered. "We're gonna have some fun later."

"Oh, God!" she sobbed, trying hard to back away from that hunting knife. He followed her, step by step, holding the knife point up against her throat as she pulled herself as far from him as the handcuff would allow. He then grabbed her by the hair and looked just inches from her terrified eyes.

"I spent ten years of my life in Birmingham! Ten years you took from me!" With the point of his knife he motioned from her forehead down to her chin. "And I'm gonna take it out of you. Piece by piece." He released her hair and let her fall to the floor under the weakness of her fear.

"Enjoy your dinner, Ladies!" Peeler said, looking behind himself at the crumpled-up figures. "Wonder if I should shoot her up, too."

"Nah, don't. I don't care about the other one. I want Emmie Lou to feel everything" she heard him say as the door closed, and the darkness swallowed them up once again.


	13. There Must Be Hope

**Chapter 13—There Must Be Hope**

**A/N: Many thanks to HEHC4EVAR (hope I spelled that right) for all the kind reviews**.

* * *

_This afternoon and into the night the search goes on for two women who have been missing. One is a Natalia Boa Vista, a crime scene investigator with the Miami-Dade police. The other one is Emmalyn Stockburne, the youngest daughter of the Stockburne family. _

"Her name's Emmie Wolfe!" Ryan grumbled, his head hung down, clutching the Styrofoam cup. Frank Stockburne reached over and patted his shoulder. Both were hungry for any kind of information, but neither one could look at the TV. Finally Ryan bolted up and threw the empty cup in the wastebasket. He couldn't bear to hear anymore.

"Ryan?"

He hung his head. "Yeah."

Emmie's father never moved. "Do they want money?"

Ryan sat back down. Like his son-in-law, the CEO was eager for anything that would bring his little girl back. Over the years the Stockburne family had adopted him, becoming the family he never really had.

"No, Frank." Ryan struggled for the words. "He doesn't want money. He wants revenge."

Frank Stockburne had a knot in his stomach as he looked at Ryan. "Revenge? You sound like you know who it is." He reached out and wanted to grab Ryan's shoulders but stopped himself. "Ryan, who is it? Tell me!"

"The guy's name is Robert Peeler. Emmie used to work for him in the Birmingham FBI. Now he's getting fired, and he blames her." He didn't have it in him to tell Frank about the Talladega Slasher. At least not yet.

"What do you think's gonna happen?"

"They're gonna find her, Frank. Alive. And they're gonna put this guy away." He sighed and put his face in his hands. "I guess I better go somewhere and get some sleep. I just can't go home right now. I can't stand anything that reminds me of her."

Frank Stockburne put a firm hand on his shoulder again. "Stay with us, Ryan. One of us can go over to your place and feed Stryker."

"Thanks. I'll see you later. I just gotta be alone for a little while."

"I understand."

Ryan looked out the window in the break room. The sun had set, leaving that faint glow over Miami. He knew he had to hold out hope. It didn't help that every hour that passed meant it would be harder to find Natalia and Emmie. With a sigh he lay on the old sofa in the dim break room and propped his head up on the pillow. He hadn't eaten. Sheer exhaustion won out, and he drifted off to sleep.

Minutes later Ryan woke with a start when he felt a hand pat his knee.

"Uncle Ryan?"

He opened his eyes to see Chris and Tatiana standing just inches from him, watching him hopefully. Chris wore his _Cars_ pajamas, while Tatiana had on a _Disney Princesses_ nightgown.

"Hey" he said tiredly as he shifted to see them better. "Shouldn't you two be in bed right now?"

"Where's Aunt Emmie?" Chris asked, his head down.

Ryan tightened his lips. He didn't know quite what to tell the anxious children.

"Did she run away?" Tatiana asked.

In his years as a police officer, Ryan had had to tell families about missing or dead loved ones before. But this certainly wasn't the same. He closed his eyes and searched for the right words.

With angry eyes Tatiana lunged at Chris and punched him in the head with her balled-up fist. "It's your fault!" she screamed.

Tired and sad as he was, Ryan sprang up off the couch and separated them. "Hey! Stop it! Tatiana, go to bed!" he barked. "Now!"

Tatiana was still holding up her fist. Christ burst into tears and shielded his head. "She always cries when you're around! You always make people leave!"

As Tatiana stormed away, Ryan held out his arms. "Come here, Chris."

Tears poured down his red face as he hugged Ryan's knee. "I'm sorry" he sobbed into his jeans. "Please make Aunt Emmie come back! I'm sorry, Uncle Ryan!"

Ryan could only pick up the boy, who wrapped his little arms around his neck and sobbed on his shoulder. "Chris. Listen to me. Look at me, Chris."

With his little fists, Chris wiped his eyes and looked at Ryan.

"Chris, Aunt Emmie didn't run away. You did _not_ make her run away."

"I miss her."

He tightened his lips and looked down. "Chris, Aunt Emmie's in danger. Bad people have her. The police are looking for her. Do you understand?" He looked into Chris's wet little blue eyes. To his surprise, Chris understood. But then again, bad people had taken him away from his family.

Tatiana stood at the doorway, her head down. She could see that Uncle Ryan could barely fight tears himself. Slowly she approached and leaned her little arms on his other knee. "Are they gonna bring her back?" she whispered hopefully.

He was determined to think about his co-workers rather than what those animals might do to his wife. "Yes. They're gonna bring her back. I don't know how or when, but they're gonna bring her back."

"Can we pray to God?" Chris asked just inches from his face.

Ryan perched the boy on his knee. Tatiana climbed up onto his other knee and watched him.

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"Yeah. We can ask God to tell the angels to bring Aunt Emmie back" Tatiana agreed. The idea was bringing a new sparkle into their eyes.

"Whenever Aunt Emmie eats lunch with us, we always pray to God and say thanks for our food."

"Yeah. She says we can ask God for anything. Even a new mommy and daddy."

"Can we ask God to bring Aunt Emmie back?"

"Yeah. And catch those bad people?"

In spite of himself, a tear rolled down Ryan's cheek as he rubbed both their pajama-clad backs. "Yeah. You're right. Let's ask God to bring her back and catch those bad people."

With a new eagerness Chris clasped his little hands together and closed his eyes, using Ryan's knee as an altar. "Dear God in Heaven. Please have the angels bring Aunt Emmie back so she can read us stories and eat lunch with us again. And God in Heaven, please kill those bad people so they can't hurt anybody else. Amen."

"Please, God? We miss Aunt Emmie" Tatiana said. "Amen."

"Amen" Ryan finally said, opening his eyes and wiping away a tear. "You two are gonna get in trouble if you're not in bed."

Tatiana reached up and touched her lips to his cheek. "Night Uncle Ryan." With that she climbed down from his knee and walked out the door.

With loving arms Chris hugged Ryan's neck and kissed his cheek. "Night Uncle Ryan."

Ryan patted his back. "Night, Kiddo."

The couch would be as good a place as any, Ryan thought as he reached up and turned off the lamp. He kicked off his shoes and lay back down, putting his hand under the pillow and closing his eyes.

In the darkness he heard whispering and felt a blanket being gently laid over him. He looked up with a start. "Huh?"

"Hey, Ryan" Frank Stockburne said. "Hope you don't mind. Somebody asked if he could sleep with you."

In the shadows he saw Chris hugging his battered stuffed bear. He smiled tiredly and held up the blanket. "Sure. Come on up."

With a smile, the little boy crawled up under the blanket and snuggled up next to the young CSI.

Emmie's father smiled sadly. "Night boys."

Ryan mussed up Chris's hair. He smiled and snuggled up to his tee shirt. "Night. Thanks."

In the dark silence, Chris looked up. "Uncle Ryan?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are there bad people?"

Ryan sighed. "I'll try to explain that when you're a little older. Let's just go to sleep."

* * *

Frank Stockburne hadn't slept very well. With his arms folded, he stood in the doorway and watched his son-in-law cradling the little boy on his chest. Both were sound asleep. He glanced out the window at the Miami sunrise, wondering whether to wake him or not. The news was pretty vague right now.

They'd found another body.


	14. Chaos Theory

**Chapter 14—Chaos Theory**

Monica West hadn't slept well in the dank, musty room. The wooden floorboards had made her back and arm ache, and the air was damp with that sickeningly sweet smell. Had it not been for the bedding she had grabbed from her apartment, her skin might have been splintered by now. But she knew it would be necessary. She worried about the snakes, cockroaches or rats coming in through the cracks. The alligators swam just feet from the old brown building. But she knew it had the seclusion they needed right now, for one more day, where nobody would find them. She looked down at Peeler, who still breathed loudly as he slept with his back to her. She was both scared and excited. With her fingers she touched his tousled red hair. Reflexively he stirred and raised his arm. She pulled her hand back, thinking he might hit her in the face. He yawned and rubbed his reddened skin with both hands as he rolled over onto his back. He then reached up and pulled her down for a kiss. "How you feeling?"

A tired smile crossed her face. "So tonight's the night."

Bleary-eyed, he looked at the sunlight peeking through the cracks. "Yeah. So you excited?"

Monica smiled sleepily. "Well, yeah. You ever been to Kuwait City?"

"Nope. But that's okay." He leaned over and kissed her gently. "No extradition treaty. See? I thought about this."

"Am I gonna have to wear a veil for the rest of my life?"

"No, course not. Plenty of Westerners there. But they have beautiful beaches. You're not gonna be an ex-con anymore."

"And your pilot friend has everything ready?"

"Broward County Airport. Ten o'clock tonight. About the same time Domeyer's taking care of business with our girlfriends." Peeler sounded exasperated as he stared at the disposable cell phone. He wanted desperately to find out what was going on in the outside world, but the FBI agent in him knew it would be a bad idea. He then ran his hand along her arm. "Hey, Monica honey, I couldn't have done this without your help."

"Thanks for getting me out of there."

"After tonight you can put it all behind you." The cyberagent arched his back and stretched. "Guess I better take a ride down the road and check on our guest. Tell him everything's all set. Tonight's the night."

"I'll be glad to get rid of him" she sniffed. "He creeps me out.

"Don't worry, honey" he said as he paced down the hall. "He said after he does his thing, he's heading for Parts Unknown. I ain't asking questions, and to be honest, I don't really care." He stood up slowly and cracked his back, stepping into his jeans and black tee shirt. "So we just lay low one more day." He leaned down and kissed her cheek again. "Be right back."

Monica sat up and fluffed her hair while she listened to the nature outside that was the Glades. Minutes later she heard a panicked Robert Peeler storm in, cursing. "What's the matter?"

"The staff car's gone!"

"What?"

"You heard me! The staff car! My gun and my badge were in the glove box!"

"Oh my God. You sure?"

"Damn sure!" He pounded the old brown wall. "And that silver Corolla's parked out there."

Adrenaline shot through her system. "Oh God, you don't think—"

"I swear, if he's out messing with my stuff-"

She put one hand up. "Okay, now just calm down. We put my tags on the staff car, remember?"

His face flushed with anger now. "Well in case you forgot, they got a BOLO out on both of them! If Domeyer's out there riding around, the cops just have to pull him over, and we're all screwed! You know that! What, they feed you stupid pills in lockup?"

She huffed and stood up. "Well, what the hell did you bring him to Florida for anyway? You hate Emmie Stockburne so much, couldn't one of your CIA pals just off her or something?"

"Hey, you didn't seem to mind!" He held his arm up as though he would backhand her across the room for challenging him, but then he caught himself as she held her hands up. "Okay, look."

"I don't want to go back to prison, Robert. And that's just where you're gonna go if this thing blows up. What do we do now?"

"We pile into your car, and we look for him."

"You sure?"

"You got any better suggestions? Get dressed!"

* * *

For the second time in a week, that familiar coppery stench hung in the air. The woman may have been around twenty, though it was difficult to tell from her red mask and the residual spatter that covered the trunk of the bald cypress. Occasionally some blood would drip back down from the trees onto the sawgrass. Like the others, her two reddened hands had been tied at the wrists to the small tree. Like Bethany Roberson, she had been stripped and dismembered piece by piece.

The silence was deafening as the sun peeked over the steamy Glades. It seemed as though all of the Miami-Dade Police Department, Park Services, and the BAU were there now, watching, waiting. Without a word, Alexx Woods stepped through the grisly scene and knelt down on a small plastic sheet. With both gloved hands she picked up the reddened face and examined it. Slowly she turned her head and met all of their anxious faces.

"It's not Emmie or Natalia" she finally said quietly. "Right now you're a Jane Doe, you poor angel."

Spencer Reid cleared his throat. "Same MO, different location. We're roughly two and a quarter miles due east of where the last victim was found."

"Means he's probably getting more familiar with the area" Morgan said.

"And more brazen" Rossi agreed.

Horatio stood behind them, hands on hips, peering through his sunglasses. "Gentlemen? We're not going to let that happen. Agent Hotchner? We're going to need you and the rest of the BAU to help us patrol the area."

"You've got it, Lieutenant."

Eric Delko could feel a tightening in his stomach as he snapped pictures and scanned the grass. "Hey! Didn't the Talladega Slasher sleep it off after killing his vics?"

"That's what the evidence suggests" Rossi said. "Why?"

He shook his head. "Every other crime scene had tire tracks and an imprint in the grass, suggesting he pulled right up to the scene, slept on the ground, and then disappeared."

"There's one other thing" Calleigh pointed out as she held her camera. All eyes were on her now. "The vic's clothes. Where are they?"

Emily Prentiss furrowed her eyebrows. "That's right. I hope we're not dealing with a copycat." She stepped forward, her eyes scanning the grass. "There's something else. In every scene, the unsub carefully laid the victim's organs on the ground carefully. Like he took his time."

Agent Rossi stepped forward. "You're right. This time it's almost like he discarded them."

"Or maybe he was in a hurry."

"Or distracted. Dr. Woods, are you finding any signs that this happened more quickly?"

Alexx bowed her head for a moment. "I'm not gonna know much till I get this body and everything else back to the lab. I'm gonna need lots of bags."

"Horatio!"

The Lieutenant turned his eyes to Frank, who held his hand over his cell phone. "They just got a call from a radio car. Couple of hikers had a campsite on the spur about three miles from here. Said they heard loud music and some kind of screaming at about one o'clock."

"Judging from the blood, that sounds like the right TOD, Horatio" Alexx said.

"So we might have some potential witnesses this time, Frank?"

"Yeah. Thought it was a couple of tweakers till they heard the news this morning. Got them back at the headquarters right now. Said when they heard the screaming, they came this way with a flashlight."

"So they must've scared him off" Horatio noted. "But there's still a chance that Emmie and Boa Vista are still alive."

Agent Hotchner stepped forward. "Lieutenant Caine, if the Talladega Slasher got scared off, and he knows where these two victims are, this could be very bad for them."

"How so, Agent Hotchner?"

Spencer stepped forward. "We believe these killings are psychosexual in nature. That means he hasn't been able to take his time and get the full gratification. So it's likely we're dealing with a very angry, frustrated unsub." His young face turned serious. "An unsub who might take it out on these two women, one way or another."

Horatio and Frank dipped their heads. This wasn't something they needed to hear right now. "Ladies and gentlemen, that's not going to happen. Calleigh? Eric? Meet me back at the lab. We're going over every piece of evidence we've collected from both scenes. Frank, I want patrols on the ground and birds in the air. He's out there somewhere. And so are Emmie and Boa Vista."


	15. Days are Numbers

**Hi everybody. Sorry for the long breaks in my chapters. Business seems to be feast or famine. Be working on more now. Special thanks to HeHC4evr (hope I spelled that right) for the comments and reviews.**

**Contains minor spoilers for _Nailed_. **

* * *

**Chapter 15—Days Are Numbers**

Heaviness hung like morning fog over the Miami-Dade Crime Lab now. Nobody spoke. Officers merely passed each other in the blue hallway, hardly able to make eye contact. Lab techs and CSI's blinked under bright lights, all of them bleary-eyed from the double shifts. The only sounds were computers, tired voices, footsteps, and scanners. One of their own was bad enough, but this was two of their own. Not knowing was the worst of all.

Cell phone in hand, Horatio stood beside Maxine Valera in the trace lab. Silently she let him grab the printout as it churned up. As he glanced at it, he couldn't help but notice that Maxine had a sad smile. "Found anything, Valera?"

"Those biologicals Calleigh swabbed from the back seat of Emmie's Blazer?" she nearly whispered.

This had his curiosity piqued. "Yes."

She handed him the printout from the desk. "Nothing showed up in CODIS. I finally checked off our employee control samples."

His tired blue eyes glanced at the printout.

Male Contribution: Ryan Wolfe. Female Contribution: Emmalyn Wolfe. In spite of himself, Horatio smiled too.

"Not sure that's gonna help us much." But Maxine couldn't help but remember what Ryan had said to Calleigh the day he'd taken a nail in his eye.

"_Broken dishes. Could've been a fight."_

"_Yeah. Or sex. Ever push aside a dinner plate to get some?"_

"_Could we just concentrate on the task at hand?"_

"They were just spicing things up, I guess."

Horatio had a fondness for Ryan and Emmie that he didn't have for anyone else. "Actually, it's a reminder why we need to find them."

"This might help." Her voice was more urgent now as she handed him another printout. "Hot off the press. Was gonna call. Soil samples Calleigh took from the footprints behind Emmie Wolfe's Blazer. No DNA, but something else."

He studied the spikes on the graph. "Spikes in sucrose, peptides, calcium and phosphorus."

"Cane sugar. They bleach and separate the sugar crystals from the molasses with the calcium phosphorus compound" Valera noted.

"And then smaller spikes in Magnesium, Potassium, iron, rubber compounds, and chloride." For the first time in days, Horatio could feel hope surging. "So we're not just searching in the Glades. We're looking for a sugarcane field. A farm that not only grew sugarcane but stored, processed and shipped it. There are abandoned plantations all over the place." Life was slowly coming back to him. This was the first big breakthrough anyone had seen in days.

"The iron and rubber compounds are probably residue from trucks and a railroad."

Horatio never took his eyes off the paper as he bolted for the door. "I'm hope our FBI profilers can help us locate a sugar warehouse. Nice work, Valera."

* * *

Spencer Reid's eyes were transfixed on the photos and notes on the lighted wall. "I don't get it. Not even one week between kills. And this morning's victim wasn't from the speedway. If this is the Talladega Slasher, he's breaking from his MO."

Agent Rossi stood behind him. "And if he _is_ with Robert Peeler and Monica West, and they _do_ have Emmie Wolfe and CSI Boa Vista, why did he kill these two young women? I mean, he definitely has motive for killing Emmie Wolfe and Natalia Boa Vista."

"That's true. But motive doesn't always mean opportunity. Natalia Boa Vista might have ruined their careers, and Emmie might've put Domeyer away, but Domeyer kills out of sexual gratification. Some psychosexual unsubs actually find rage killing repulsive."

"Killers do have consciences."

Horatio had stepped into the room while both profilers talked. For a minute he simply stood at the doorway with his head down. "Gentlemen. Anything that might help us find our missing CSI's?"

"Afraid not, Lieutenant" Rossi noted. "We don't know where the second victim came from. We can't even be sure it was the Talladega Slasher."

"Think I can answer that for you boys" Frank said gruffly as he stepped into the lab, looking down at his cell phone. "While you were in here 'profiling,' I spoke with the vic's friends. Name's Caitlin Owen. Twenty-two. On spring break from Penn State. Went clubbing with some friends last night. Said they saw her talking to a guy who had an FBI badge on his jeans. She left with him about eleven-thirty." He held up his phone. "One of her friends took a picture. Said something just wasn't right, but Caitlin said he bragged about doing undercover work."

Rossi and Spencer stepped forward and studied the camera phone. He looked at Frank and furrowed his eyebrows. "So she thought he was an FBI agent?"

"Zoom in on that badge, Frank" Horatio said. Frank thumbed the picture until it zoomed in on the silver dot on Domeyer's jeans.

"FBI badge" Rossi said. "That's definitely him. That badge looks like the real deal to me. Wonder where he got it."

"I don't know, gentlemen. But we might be able to find out where Agent Peeler's been. Our lab found traces of sugar extract, rubber and iron compound in the soil sample we took from Robert Peeler's footprints. We think he may be hiding in one of the many abandoned sugar plants. This one is specifically near a railhead. Can your office find it?"

Reid thumbed his cell phone. "Garcia can find anything. I'll check with her right now."

Garcia jabbed the button with her pink fuzzy pen. "Talk to me. I have nothing better to do."

"Garcia, we need you to find the locations of old sugar plantations in the Everglades. Specifically the ones that are close to a railhead and have storage and processing facilities. There were hundreds of them before they started closing down after World War II."

She smiled as she clicked the keyboard. "Hey, you know sweetness is my specialty." Blueprints flashed in front of her. "According to Florida property records and deeds, there are twenty-six total that are within an hour's drive of the Miami city limits."

"Narrow your search to those that are near both a road and a railhead."

She tapped keys again. "Eight. All of them are clustered around the old Overseas Railroad, which was the main route to Key West or to the Port of Miami. Hold on. The Timiami Sugar Works. It was owned by one family. There are twenty-five buildings between the main depot and the farm road in the area. I'll send you the grid coordinates."

"Thanks, Garcia."

"Bring 'em back alive." With that she clicked off the phone.

"We intend to" Horatio assured her.

Reid snapped his phone shut. "The Timiami Sugar Works. Garcia's sending us the coordinates."

Horatio nodded with a resolve. "Road trip, Gentlemen."

* * *

For one more day, morning light peeked through the rotting, warped wooden planks, warming the old building again. By now Natalia and Emmie had lost all sense of time. Or days. For one more day there were no sounds but the crickets, the bugs, and the loons. No air conditioning. No familiar voices calling their names. No real food. No real way of knowing whether today would be their last day alive. No way of knowing what their captors might do to them. Natalia could think more clearly now that the drugs were gone from her system. Still, she felt wrung out. Dirty. Weak. Unable to focus. She now sat against the pole, opposite from Emmie, and held her head. Emmie was leaning on the other side, blinking at the light. Neither spoke a word, their hopes of ever being found alive as dim as the light. The spa cabana by the sea was a distant memory to Emmie now. She barely remembered the steak and lobster. The death-by-chocolate cake with café arabica. How incomplete it all was without Ryan there to hold her close. To love her and protect her.

"You awake, Natalia?"

She held her sweaty, sticky forehead with her free hand. "Yeah."

"How you feeling?"

"Sick." She stared at the open Styrofoam box and water bottle that Peeler had dropped in front of them. There were still some French fries left in there from yesterday, but by now they were cold and soggy. Probably not fit to eat.

"What do you think will happen today?" Emmie finally whispered.

"I don't know."

Silently Emmie began to wipe tears from her face. Natalia heard her sobs and reflexively grabbed her hand. "Hang in there, Emmie. Wasn't it you who always said 'Don't give the bastards the satisfaction'?"

"I was such a pain to Ryan. Now I might not get to apologize."

"We're gonna get out of here somehow. I just don't know how."

Both women perked up when they thought they heard a car engine coming closer, sounding like it was slowing down outside the building. The engine cut off.

"Hey! You hear that?" Emmie whispered.

"Yeah."

The slam of a car door. Then footsteps. Closer and closer. Nobody called out their names. This person was at home here and knew where they were going.

"That doesn't sound like police officers" Natalia whispered.

"Oh God" Emmie sobbed as she hid her face and trembled.

Natalia felt a sickening pain in her gut, but she held Emmie's arm. "Just hold on."


	16. Body Count

**Chapter 16—Body Count**

When the door burst open, the sudden light nearly blinded them. Natalia and Emmie closed their eyes and shielded each other against the pole.

It was Richard Domeyer. There seemed to be an anger to him as he paced into the room and stood over them, his dirty, blood-soaked black boots just inches from their legs. He wasn't wearing a shirt. His stringy hair clung to his neck. Blood spatter covered him from head to toe now. Both knew that he'd killed again.

Emmie didn't realize that she was digging into Natalia's arm with her nails. "I'm right here, Emmie." Both of them began to wonder how much more fear and darkness their souls could handle.

But there was something strange. He seemed to be on a drug high. At the same time, Natalia and Emmie could both sense an anger and a frustration. He seemed to be deciding whether to kill them, talk to them, or just walk away and leave them there. Without warning, he now sat down next to them on the floor. "What's bothering Emmie Lou?" He held his bare, dirty, bloody arm out. "Come on. I just want to talk."

Emmie sobbed as Natalia held her head, pulling away from his hand. "She'll be okay."

He glanced around the dark room. "Damn! Y'all been in here this whole time?"

"Yes."

He stood up, looking at the ceiling. "And they ain't fed you or nothing? That ain't right! Well hey, ya know what? You go on, Baby Girl. I don't even know you. I'm just gonna sit here and talk to my old friend Emmie Lou for a while." He then reached into his pocket and took out Robert Peeler's bundle of keys, unlocking Natalia's handcuff. As the cuff opened and fell to the floor, Natalia pulled back her wrist and looked at his bloody shoes in disbelief.

The blood-spattered killer stood up and shooed her toward the door. "Well go on! Get outta here! I wanna be alone with Emmie Lou! Three's a crowd!"

This was the only chance she'd have, and she knew it. Leave or be killed. But Emmie?

Slowly and painfully she slipped out of Emmie's grip. Natalia would have to find help and find it fast, while this man was still disoriented.

Emmie put out her arm and clung to the pole like a frightened child. "Natalia, wait! Oh God! Don't leave me!" she wailed.

"Emmie, I swear, I'll be back for you! I swear" Natalia promised as she crept toward the open door and the light.

"_Nooooo! Natalia! Please don't leave me!"_

Natalia had to shut out Emmie's sobs as she bolted for the door. "Please let there be something out here." She felt wobbly and tired. The daylight nearly blinded her after days in that dark building. She twisted and held her ribs, hissing through her teeth as pain shot through her trunk, but adrenaline kicked in as she started to stumble through the muddy weeds. This would be her only chance to save both of them. "Emmie, I swear, I'll be back for you. Please don't hurt her."

* * *

"You sure we should do this?" Monica asked as she drove along the two-lane highway. "The cops are eventually gonna make it out this way."

Robert Peeler wore a ball cap and sunglasses while keeping his head down. In his anger he pounded the door of Monica's brown compact, almost hard enough to break it while cursing under his breath.

"Hey! You wanna stop pounding my door? I can't afford to fix that!" she snapped at the windshield. "Why'd you do all this anyway?"

His eyes blazed at her. "Why'd I do _what_, Monica?"

She dug her nails into the dirty brown steering wheel now. "Why'd you get this guy out anyway? Why'd you go through all the trouble? Couldn't you just shoot her in the head, like everybody else? Or just wipe out her records? You're probably pretty good at that!"

"You wanted Boa Vista dead too, remember?"

"Look, can't we just get to the airport? Just get out of here and forget all about this?"

The burly cyberagent wanted to reach over and strangle Monica, throw something, punch out the window, anything. But there was a manhunt going on. He knew the clock was ticking and that they were taking a huge risk just by being out in the open. Like it or not, he depended on this woman right now. "You sure as hell didn't seem to mind helping. You didn't even know who I was when you took my call, did you?"

"I really don't want to deal with this guy. Come on, Robert! We could've been gone by now."

Monica slowed the car as they came closer to the building. Robert Peeler craned his neck when he saw the familiar black staff car. "Hey! He's here! Least he parked the car inside the building. Get close. Park this thing under the trees. I'll go in and find him. You stay here."

Monica lay down over the seats, careful not to be seen by any passing police cars. "Be careful in there" she whispered.

* * *

"Am I scaring you, Emmie Lou?" he finally asked just inches from her face.

Her heart pounded and she quaked. Why didn't he kill her? What was he waiting for?

Finally he reached into his boot with his blood-covered hand and pulled out his hunting knife, holding the blade just inches from her face. "Take a good look at this, Baby Girl. Come on. Look."

She kept her face turned away from him. In a fit of anger he pounded the pole just above her head. Splinters and dust rained down on them. She shrieked into her arms.

"_I told you to look_!"

Slowly the shaking cyberagent glanced at the knife that was covered in Caitlin Owens's blood. Then at his angry, bloodshot eyes. They were distant. Like he was off in another universe. "You know, Emmie Lou, when I was a kid, my daddy taught me how to hunt with this knife." He studied the blade thoughtfully. "Couldn't tell you how old it is. I could kill a deer and dress it out by the time I was seven. Dress out a pig, rabbit, 'coon. Got pretty damned good at it. Course a city girl with pretty fingernails like you wouldn't know about that. Probably never got dirty in your life. Anyway, found out that if I did it right, I didn't even need my rifle. Sneak up on a critter and get him with this. Nice heart-lung jab. Never knew what hit him."

Emmie's mind was blank. She couldn't tell him she was a war veteran who had handled body parts.

"But you know what? Kinda got to be fun." He laughed a little. "Yeah. Real fun. Watch that critter's life slip away. But you know what, Emmie Lou? It wasn't good enough." His voice became more animated now. "Was this girl in school. Hell, I don't even remember her name. She threw rocks at me and called me a freak. So I followed her home, kicked her down, tied her hands to the tree." He leaned toward her. "We were out in the woods, so nobody could hear her scream. Felt pretty damned good. You ever kill anybody, Emmie Lou? You ever watch anybody beg for their life? You kinda feel like God."

Emmie resolved by now that she would either live or die. "I begged for my baby's life" she blurted out, leaning her forehead against that pole again. "And he still died! Is that good enough for you?" A strange numbness suddenly washed over her. Any second she expected to feel the sting of that knife in her back, and it would be all over.

Both of them became aware of a presence in the room.

"What the—"

Peeler stood in the doorway, his eyes blazing at the man. "Aw crap! You killed somebody last night, didn't you?"

Slowly Richard Domeyer stood up and walked slowly toward him, knife in hand. "Yeah. I did. Why?"

Peeler wasn't in control, but he stood firmly as the killer kept walking toward him, their eyes locked. "Where's my gun and my badge?"

He nodded at the black staff car. "They're in the car. I borrowed 'em."

"You idiot! What the hell did you do that for?"

"'Cause kittens love Feds. They're in the car. You want 'em? Go get 'em! You want 'em? Go get 'em!"

He glanced at the cowering cyberagent. "Where's Boa Vista?"

"I let her go."

"You _what_?" He pointed a finger at the killer's face. "We had a deal!"

Peeler reached out with his burly hand to grab Domeyer's arm when, with a lightning-quick thrust, Domeyer slammed the knife into his ribcage, right below his heart, just hard and deep enough to sever his pulmonary vein, looking into his widened eyes as the cyberagent buckled forward. Blood flowed from his chest and he opened his mouth as Domeyer yanked the knife out. Peeler grabbed for him, but he stood back and watched the cyberagent sink to the floor and lay on his side.

Domeyer watched as Peeler's disbelieving blue eyes went vacant and his trembling hands went still. Fresh blood dripped from his knife. Emmie hid her face and covered her ears. Much as she hated Robert Peeler, this was too much.

"Who's the idiot?" he sneered. To watch those blue eyes sag. That mouth open with surprise. The river of blood running from his chest to the wooden planks. To watch his life slip away. He smiled. "I don't owe you nothing."

Emmie's head flushed as her throat tightened. She thought she might faint now. Sliding the handcuff up the pole, she hugged the splintering wood and buried her head.

"Come on, Emmie Lou. Whaddya say you and me do a little sightseeing? I ain't never been to Florida."

She never moved. There was a numbness as, any second she expected to feel the sting of that knife in her back. For him to yank her head back and cut her throat. Anything. Instead she flinched as she felt a sharp prick in her right shoulder.

Domeyer tossed the used insulin needle aside as he unlocked her handcuff. As she felt him pull her up by the arm, Emmie could feel her head swirling. The handcuff on the floor, the dirty concrete, the river of blood, Peeler's body lying on its side. They were all just images in a dream now. Nothing was making sense. She could only feel herself being pulled along, and she instinctively started to work her legs so that she wouldn't fall over. The flashing images of a back seat. The slamming of a door. An engine starting. Her body shook as the car bumped along the rutty road.


	17. Plain Sight

**Chapter 17—Plain Sight**

The narrow, faded, crumbling old road probably hadn't seen another vehicle since the sugar farming days, Morgan figured. This road was long forgotten, much like those old sugarcane mills that it had serviced, and Florida saw no need to waste the money on upkeep this far out. Nonetheless, he gripped the steering wheel and leaned forward as the black SUV rattled over potholes, buried logs, and dead palm fronds. Overgrown sawgrass whipped the grill with a _ZIP! ZIP! ZIP!_ "Wouldn't be surprised if you got a few body dumps out here" he muttered.

"We'll deal with those later" Calleigh said dryly as she held onto the safety handle and watched the GPS. "Keep your eyes out. Should be coming up on the Timiami Sugar Works in about another mile or so."

"The grid Garcia sent us says there's an old railhead that feeds into the old Overseas Railroad."

In the _ZIP! ZIP! ZIP!_ of sawgrass and palm fronds, Calleigh thought she saw something moving. "Hey, slow down. Might be an alligator."

Morgan eased up on the accelerator. "Yeah, I see—Hey! That's a body!"

An arm grabbing at the air. Brown hair. Instinctively the agent slammed on the brakes.

"That's Boa Vista!"

"You sure?"

"Positive! Come on!"

Morgan and Calleigh jumped out and waded through the sawgrass to her side.

Natalia lay face down on the searing pavement, her arm out over her head, almost as if calling for help. Her brown hair covered her face. Her legs were still in the sawgrass jungle on the roadside. She moaned with exhaustion, somehow knowing that she would be all right now.

"Help me turn her over!" Calleigh ordered.

Derek Morgan knelt opposite from her and gently helped lay Natalia on her back. She stirred and turned her face away from the brightness. Her face and arms were sunburned. She reeked of sweat, swampwater, and vegetation. Her arms and clothes were dirty and gashed from wading through the plants.

"CSI Boa Vista? Special Agent Derek Morgan with the FBI. I'm here with CSI Duquesne. Can you hear me?"

She nodded slightly, squinting in the sunlight.

Calleigh didn't wait for the order. "I'm calling it in! Stay with her, Agent Morgan. I'm gonna call Rescue and then let Horatio know she's alive."

"Thanks!" With his hand the profiler shielded her eyes. "It's okay. We gotcha. CSI DuQuesne's calling Medevac. You just hang on."

Natalia coughed and turned her face from the harsh sunlight. "Emmie" she whispered.

"Emmie Wolfe? Where is she?"

Natalia had lost all sense of time and direction by now. Weakly she put up her hand, trying to point in the direction she had come from. "She's…back…."

"She's alive?"

Natalia didn't answer. It had been hours. Her head was throbbing from the exhaustion and dehydration. She couldn't be sure of anything anymore.

"It's okay. We're gonna get you to the hospital."

"Thanks" she whispered.

"Did they have you guys together?"

She nodded weakly and squinted in the hot afternoon sun. "Big…warehouse. Back…room. Brown…car." She took a deep breath and laid her head back. "I…need…water."

"You got it. CSI DuQuesne! Bring some water!"

Calleigh re-emerged with a water bottle and placed it in Natalia's scarred hand. Lying on her side she upended the bottle, choking and gagging, spitting some out onto the pavement. Water ran down her gashed, dirty blouse.

"Medevac's on its way. The rest of the MDPD and the BAU are on their way."

Slowly Natalia closed her eyes. Derek Morgan picked up her wrist. Her pulse was faint. "Looks like she'll be okay."

"Judging from the sunburn on the left side of her face, she's been traveling due north for at least the last three hours" Calleigh observed.

"That's some pretty rough terrain" Derek said as he squinted at the grass. "How far do you think she came?"

"I'd say she traveled about six to nine miles."

The profiler opened his cell phone. "I'll give 'em our position and tell 'em to head about six miles south of here."

* * *

Monica West barely peeked up through the window in time to see the staff car screech off into the treeline. "Where the hell's he going?" But she saw only one shadow through the tinted glass. The black staff car rumbled down the dirt path, into the trees. Then silence.

Something was wrong.

Gingerly she stepped out into the blazing afternoon sun, glancing around in the dead silence. Good. No cars or helicopters. It was still safe. She kept her head down and stepped into the warehouse.

"Robert?"

Silence. She held her sleeve.

"Where are you?"

Monica had taken two more steps and then stopped. She gasped and covered her mouth, her body going numb.

Robert Peeler's body lay in front of her, still on his side, his eyes and mouth open in surprise, a river of blood streaming across the concrete from his sky blue polo shirt. For a split second she'd thought about all those crime scene photos she'd analyzed as a prosecutor. But this was real. She thought maybe she should feel for a pulse, shake him awake, anything. But that maniac had killed him, and she was powerless to do anything about it. For what seemed a long time, she just watched his body as the blood continued to run across the concrete, more slowly now.

Reality began to set in that she was alone, trapped, and a fugitive from the law, on her way back to prison if they'd caught her. Numbness washed over her as she poked her head through the open door.

Nothing but two sets of handcuffs still attached to the wooden pole. The open box of fries and the water bottle still sat on the floorboards. She stared into the silent prison. Robert was gone. Her only shot at freedom was gone. This pilot friend probably wouldn't know her from Adam.

Just get out of there, she thought. Just get back into that clunky old Toyota and drive. Anywhere.

She had no sooner stepped out into the blinding light when she heard engines. Sirens. Black SUV's with grill lights. Then that familiar champagne Hummer. She closed her eyes and was about to do something—hide in the sawgrass, get into the Toyota and make a run for it. As she put her hand on the door handle, a swarm of black SUV's surrounded her, cutting off her escape and sending up a cloud of dirt in the process.

"Don't do it, Monica!"

"FBI! Stay right there!"

Her hand still on the door handle, she closed her eyes and bowed her head. The MDPD and the BAU had their guns drawn as they inched toward her.

"Hands on your head!" Frank barked. He snapped cuffs on her as she dropped to her knees and put her hands on top of her dusty black hair. Emily Prentiss stood her on her feet and patted her down. "She's clear."

"Where are they, Miss West?" Horatio demanded.

She didn't answer. The BAU wasted no time in checking the building, guns drawn. They could hear choruses of "Clear!"

"Hey! Got a body! It's Peeler!"

"Was Domeyer with you?" Hotchner demanded.

She nodded.

"Where is he now?"

Without saying a word, she lifted up her eyes at the tire tracks.

"Where's Emmie Wolfe?"

"I swear, I don't know."

"There's no sign of her!" Rossi yelled from the inside. "But they were definitely here! Both handcuffs were open!"

Horatio's eyes followed the tracks that led into the woodline. "Frank, get Alexx out here. Agent Prentiss? Take Miss West back to MDPD.."

"You got it."

Horatio took off his sunglasses and looked straight into her eyes. "Miss West, here's where we inform you that your early release has been rescinded. Agent Hotchner? Secure this area. I want Air Search and Rescue. The sun's setting, and we don't have much time."

Emily grabbed Monica's cuffs and hustled her into the black SUV while Horatio looked out at the treeline.

"Please be alive, Emmie."


	18. Last Full Measure

**A/N: The music for this chapter is Inna Gada da Vida by Iron Butterfly. Come to find out "Ina Gadda Da Vida" was someone trying to say "In the Garden of Eden" while on acid. **

**I want to thank everyone, especially HEHC4evr, for your kind reviews. This is the last chapter I'll be able to write for now (selling the house and moving). Had no idea there was so much involved. The next one will be a short, transitional chapter. Soon. Again, thanks. Enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter 18—Last Full Measure**

The black staff car was battered, dusty, mud-splashed and scratched from having been run through the woods. Sawgrass poked out of the grill and the fender. It had stopped, possibly broken something on the rough ground, and now sat silent, like all the other victims he had abused, mutilated and left in his wake.

Now dirty, sweating, bloodstained, wired and hungry, Richard Domeyer sat cross-legged on the ground in front of a mangrove and lit a cigarette with trembling hands. The swamp's humidity was causing the blood to trickle off his thin body to his jeans. There were no sounds in the twilight but the loons, waterbirds and frogs in the brush.

* * *

The sun was below the horizon as the helicopter flew over the thick treeline. Horatio and Aaron Hotchner sat in the rear jumpseat on either side. Horatio scanned the treeline through binoculars while Agent Hotchner watched the helicopter's infrared scanner.

"See anything down there?" Hotchner said through the radio.

"Nothing" Horatio answered.

Hotchner stiffened up when tiny red dots on the screen caught his attention. Probably just deer, he thought. He took a deep breath and picked up the handheld. "Anything on the ground?"

Derek Morgan gripped the wheel as the SUV slowly bumped over the roots and heaves, crawling to avoid the occasional downed tree, sinkhole, or scampering animal. "Nothing yet, Hotch."

"Coming in right behind you" Frank Tripp said over the radio. "Yep, definitely came through here."

"How the hell did he drive a car in this?" Agent Rossi muttered, holding his chin back to keep from being smacked by the steering wheel.

"You can do anything if you're desperate enough" Spencer said matter-of-factly.

"We can't see the ground, and the infrared doesn't pick up everything. We're gonna need you to be our eyes and ears on the ground, gentlemen" Hotchner said.

"You got it" Morgan assured him.

"Tracks go to the left" Rossi yelled over the noise. With both hands he pulled the wheel hard to fight the bumps and rattles.

"Everybody cut off your lights, except Morgan" Hotchner ordered. "I don't have to remind you, our unsub is desperate right now and there's no telling what he'll do. We can't take a chance on spooking him, especially if he has Emmie Wolfe."

One hand firmly on the wheel, Frank dimmed the Hummer's lights. Now he and Rossi squinted forward. Frank Tripp jerked the wheel as the tracks and broken grass meandered around a fallen tree.

* * *

Richard Domeyer exhaled another cloud of cigarette smoke. He had now fully come down from the glorious high of his last kill. He now knew that he hadn't eaten or slept in nearly two days. The only clothes he had were the dirty, blood-spattered jeans and boots he was wearing. The only food he knew of was the French fries back in that storage house. Not even the bad-tasting nutraloaf he'd eaten in lockup. The old rage and anger were setting back in. He had killed Robert Peeler, something he might not have done otherwise. He had also let Agent Boa Vista go. She might give him away, if she were still alive.

But this was it. Just kill Agent Stockburne, holster his knife, and take off under cover of the trees.

He pulled open the back door to see Emmie lying on her side, but now she seemed to be coming around, slowly, just like he'd planned when he jabbed the needle into her arm. First she seemed to wave her right arm as though groping for something, but then she looked up at him, startled. "What the hell? Oh God, no!"

Agent Stockburne had always been a lot of fight in her, he remembered. Obviously not like the young, trusting, lonely, vulnerable kittens who screamed and begged for their lives. She now seemed to shake, probably knowing that this would be the end and how painfully it would happen. He looked at her again and then at the trees around him. Maybe just leave her in the car. Maybe just give her a heart-lung jab and end it all.

No, he decided. He'd been thinking about this moment for years as he crouched down, his filthy, sweaty face just inches from hers. "You bitch. You cost ten years of my life. Now I'm gonna take it out of your ass."

This tree would do as well as any, he decided, as he reached for her wrists. Weakly Emmie waved them around and squirmed away. "No! Get away from me! You get away! _Get away_!"

"Aw no" he growled as he lunged forward and swiped her left arm, pulling hard and dragging her through the dirt. She was cumbersome, like a deer, and heavier than any of the kittens he'd done. He then opened the dirty, dented trunk. Everything was still there from last night—the blood-soaked nylon rope, Robert Peeler's emergency light, vials, needles, and the CD player with his Iron Butterfly CD still in it. She whimpered as she slowly backcrawled away, but she was too slow and too weak. Quickly he looped the yellow rope around her wrists and tied the other end to the mangrove trunk. He then stood back and hesitated, lighting another cigarette.

* * *

Horatio continued to scan the treetops. "Anything yet? Wait!"

"What is it?" Agent Morgan wanted to know.

He frowned. "Probably just a deer." Time was running out, and everyone knew it.

* * *

Domeyer deliberately turned on the yellow emergency light and trained it on her scared face. He then placed his CD player on top of the dirty, scratched hood and jabbed the play button. His bloodshot eyes blazed and he smiled as "Inna-Gadda-Da-Vida" saturated the evening air. He could finally feel the excitement rise again as he thought about slicing her open, skinning her slowly, taking her apart piece by piece as slowly as possible, wearing her warm blood.

"You don't know how long I waited for this, Emmie Lou" he whispered into her ear as he grabbed the tail of her blouse. Buttons flew as he cut off her blouse and her bra with sawing, ripping motions and threw them behind him. Her glassy green eyes stared away from him as the air hit her bare skin.

* * *

"Thick in here, Gentlemen" the pilot said over the radio. "Not sure where there's a good place to put down."

Aaron Hotchner furrowed his eyebrows. "Wait! About a hundred yards to your right!"

"Yeah, we see it!" Rossi said. "There's light up ahead!"

"Going that way now" Frank said as the Hummer kept bumping along.

Horatio just looked on. He wasn't sure about getting his hopes up at this point. "Two figures! Human!"

"I see them!" Hotchner said. "One lying on the ground!"

Gently Morgan pushed on the accelerator and leaned forward. "We're on it!"

"Yep, that's them! Black staff car!" Frank nearly yelled.

"Turn but go silent" Hotchner said to the pilot as he gripped the safety strap. "Is there a place you can land?"

The chopper slowed and ran as high as possible without losing the infrared images, but not so low as to give away their position with the noise or turbulence.

"Looks like a clearing about fifty feet that way" he said. "I can put us down there!"

"Do it!"

* * *

With the tip of the knife he very slowly sliced a straight line down her right forearm, from her wrist to her elbow, watching as he cut along her skin, just slowly enough to cause as much pain as possible. Emmie cried out, twisting side to side as blood trickled out of the long cut and dripped onto the dead sawgrass.

The lights on his back stunned him, almost as though waking him up from a glorious trance. Furiously he bolted up and spun around, knife still in hand, crouched as though ready to pounce.

"Robert Domeyer! FBI! Drop the knife!"

He found himself face to face with the Miami-Dade PD and the BAU, all about twenty feet away with their revolvers trained on him in the headlights.

"It's over, Domeyer!" Horatio growled as he advanced from the other direction. "Put it down, now!"

For a few seconds he looked into each of their eyes, the grip on his knife tightening with rage. More headlights came at him, sirens squealing as more officers started to surround him. The blue FBI vests crept closer, guns still drawn.

"I'm not gonna say it again! Drop it!" Horatio snarled.

He had been trembling in the brightness, breathing hard with rage. Now he screamed like a banshee. Quickly he spun around, knife in the air. He would take her with him.

_BOOM_!

Frank fired, hitting him in the back. He buckled forward and blood splashed from his kidney as he groaned in pain and surprise. He dropped to his knees, his head down, still holding the knife inches over her.

_BOOM_!

Rossi fired the second round, hitting him in the lungs. Richard Domeyer collapsed dead on the ground face down, the knife tumbling out of his grip.

"Untie her!"

Horatio double-timed through the darkness near where the helicopter had set down. As Emily undid the knotting in the rope, Horatio slipped off his jacket and laid it over her bare skin. Spencer hit the stop button on the CD player. More officers and feds stepped over Domeyer's body to survey the scene under the bright lights.

Horatio knelt down as she slowly turned her eyes toward him.

"Emmie? Can you hear me?"

Sadly she turned her eyes toward him.

"You're safe now. We're getting you to the hospital."

The trickle of blood had now become a stream, dripping on the ground more quickly now. Hotchner pulled his red tie out from under his blue vest and bandaged her.

"So he was just getting started" Rossi observed. "Looks like he dosed her with something."

"Agent Hotchner, have the BAU load her on the chopper" Horatio commanded. "I'll meet you up there. I have to take care of something first." Standing away from the lights and the chaos, Horatio clicked on his cell phone. The signal was faint, but he could get one.

"Mr. Wolfe? It's Horatio." He held up his head. "Emmie's alive. We're bringing her in."


	19. Fly Away Home

**A/N: Hi everybody. I'm back. Been prepping for a move to Missouri, which will happen in a month. A special shoutout to HEHC4evr for all your reviews. Thanks for waiting. **

**This is a short chapter that transitions to the next part of the story.**

* * *

**Chapter 19—Fly Away Home**

Ryan stood as close to the landing pad as possible, the Miami breeze whipping his hair as he shielded his eyes from the spotlights. Having not slept in several nights, he was running on pure adrenaline now, not far from survival mode. He didn't even remember racing to Miami General. Now, as noisy as Miami was, he could hear only silence.

Finally! The faint light came toward him, the chopper blades louder and louder as it hovered over the pad and finally set down. His brown hair whipped back as he shielded his face from the wash and the bright landing lights.

Two LifeFlight medics in blue uniforms jumped out and darted to the side. As the helicopter's giant rotor blade slowed down, they gently pulled out the litter that carried Emmie strapped down. One medic held up an IV bag with one hand. Quickly two other men wheeled up a gurney where she was gently set down.

Ryan was a police officer, a former patroller, calm and professional, but now he desperately had to run alongside the pad where his wife was being wheeled into the doors.

"It's okay" he yelled over the whooshing as he flashed them the Brass Pass. "I'm her husband!"

Emmie had come around more by now to the point that she could look into his eyes. Sad and tired. As they wheeled her in through the glass doors he put his arm out, wanting to touch her, but as a police officer he knew he couldn't. He stepped back and never took his eyes off her. He wanted to hold her, but he knew he'd have to wait. This time laws and regulations worked against him.

* * *

Ryan now flowed upstream of ER doctors and techs carrying charts. The voices around him were just noise as he followed his wife to the ER where they loaded her onto the bed on the count of three and finally disappeared.

"Ryan?"

Ryan collapsed himself onto her chest and kissed her hair. "I love you, Emmie."

She touched his sweaty hair. "I love you too."

Finally he sat down in the chair next to the bed and did what anyone else in an ER would do—wait.

* * *

It had been several hours since Horatio called him with the news that saved his life. He leaned his head back and rubbed his bloodshot eyes, waiting for his wife to be admitted. It was just after three in the morning now.

A nurse poked her head out the door. "Mr. Wolfe? You can come in now."

He took a seat in the little room that reminded him a little too much of interrogation when the doctor, a boyish-looking man with gold-rimmed glasses sat across from him, chart in hand.

"Ryan Wolfe? Hi, I'm Doctor Dawson. I examined your wife."

Ryan took a deep breath and leaned toward him.

"I've made the decision to keep your wife for twenty-four hours for observation." Doctor Dawson glanced down at the red folder. "Emmie was severely dehydrated. We put her on a .05 percent saline IV. One more day and she might have gone into renal failure." His eyes scanned the chart again, but this time Dr. Dawson seemed confused. "She was more lethargic than someone in her condition might have been, so I also ordered a tox panel. Her central nervous system had slowed way down for a woman her size and age. She had traces of Diazepam."

Ryan tightened his lips. "Valium."

"Given the situation it made her drowsy enough not to fight. And an even smaller amount of Rohypnol, which as you know affects short-term memory. Right now Emmie is a little confused and probably won't remember anything that happened. She'll certainly remember you; no problem about that."

He looked down now. Where could somebody like Richard Domeyer get his hands on Valium and Rohypnol? That and needles? And why would he not want her to remember anything?

"But the best thing is that there wasn't any blood loss."

"From what?"

The young doctor held up his right arm and motioned from his wrist to his elbow. "She has a clean incision on her right forearm. It's been sutured and bandaged."

Ryan held his stomach now. Richard Domeyer was just getting started.

* * *

With tired, bloodshot eyes, Emmie reached out to him. He closed his eyes and held her hand to his chest. Tiredly she turned her head toward him. "Ryan?"

He now leaned down and kissed her forehead. There were no words as he took her hand and leaned his cheek against her forehead. She reached up and stroked his hair.

Finally he looked at his wife. Her right forearm was bandaged from wrist to elbow. Her green eyes were vacant. Her skin was flushed. "I—I…."

"It's okay, Emmie. I'm right here" he whispered.

"How's it going?"

Ryan tiredly stood up and turned around at a voice he recognized.

"Natalia?"

Natalia wore a blue hospital robe and slippers as she stood in the doorway. "How's she doing?"

"She'll be fine."

"They're letting me out tomorrow morning."

Natalia stepped in as she was joined by Horatio and Emily and Dave Rossi.

"Guys, thanks."

"We're just glad she's okay" Rossi said.

Ryan smiled a little. "It's funny. One of the kids at the orphanage's name is Christopher. He's been sleeping on the floor next to me since this all happened. Every night he's been sitting on the floor with his hands folded, praying to God that the angels would bring her back from the bad people." As soon as I got the call, he started yelling and dancing, saying that the angels had brought Aunt Emmie back."

He smiled tiredly and looked at the two CSI's and the BAU agents. The angels had definitely brought her back.

Aaron Hotchner poked his head into the door. He nodded at Ryan and Emmie and then at Emily and Rossi. "Miami airport. Wheels up in twenty minutes." With that Emily and Rossi turned around. "Take care, Ryan" Rossi said.

_An old Chinese proverb says "__He who seeks vengeance must dig two graves: one for his enemy and one for himself"_


End file.
